:-) Here is Part B of Chapter 3 of my fan-fiction. Hope you enjoy the story and the pics I used to illustrate it.
Please read my previous post for Part A of this chapter, if you haven't done so already. :-)
Disclaimer and apologies are back at the introduction and they still apply.
Warnings: coarse language, alcohol consumption, sexual references, small sex scene, general crudity, not suitable for minors, but okay for miners.
Here's hoping that I can remember how to put this under a cut now.....
Back in his bedchamber, Frodo was sprawled on top of his blankets in a state of blissful semi-consciousness. After reviewing the events of the morning six or seven times, with a bit of dozing in between, he got up, recovered his fishbone and placed it back in its box. Then he went to the foot of his bed, pulled it a few inches towards himself and nodded in satisfaction. That should stop the banging next time, he thought, but I don’t know what I can do about the noise Nigella makes. Nothing probably. Well, too bad if it disturbs Bilbo!
He leaned on his windowsill and looked out over the garden. It was so beautiful in its verdant green cloak of summer. I must make a note of that for my next poem, he thought, not noticing the tautology. The air was redolent with honeysuckle; it was much nicer than the smell of garbage! He smiled to himself and knew that both aromas would forever evoke memories of his first times with Nigella. He was quite hopeful that they would be the first of many.
What’s he up to? thought Frodo. He recalled seeing ancient maps unfolded on the desk in the study, and overhearing the names of unfamiliar places during half-whispered conversations between Bilbo and Gandalf. He decided to find the wizard to ask him what was going on.
Gandalf was in the guest room writing in the diary he kept to record his day to day life. It was a dark and mysterious journal, full of significant events, portentous dreams, recipes, incantations, and weird personal thoughts. He held a secret desire that it would one day be a famous tome, read and revered by thousands. I shall call it The Wizard, he thought. Best to keep it simple!
He chuckled as he thought of Bilbo’s journal about his own little adventure to Smaug’s cave. The hobbit had also written his account with the hope that it might become a story well-loved by future generations. ‘Little blighter pinched my idea but he’s got no hope,’ said Gandalf. ‘A snowball’s chance in Mordor!’
He tapped the end of the quill thoughtfully on his nose as he tried to remember the details of last night’s erotic dream about Frodo. He suddenly recollected the really good bits and was about to scribble feverishly on the page, when he saw the subject of his dream standing before him. Gandalf licked his lips as he stared at Frodo’s ruffled hair and crumpled nightshirt.
Frodo stretched and casually scratched himself. ‘Gandalf,’ he said in a questioning tone.
Gandalf’s eyes glazed over and he did not reply.
‘Gandalf! Can you tell me what Bilbo is planning? Don’t say it’s nothing, for I have noticed him acting even more strangely than usual lately.’
Gandalf’s eyes cleared and he snapped his journal shut. ‘Yes, my boy, Bilbo is planning something. He feels a strong desire to visit the Elves at Rivendell. He wants to see his old friend, Elrond, and walk the mountain paths once more, before...’
The wizard paused and sighed.
‘Before what?’ prompted Frodo.
‘I think Bilbo feels that he is not long for this world,’ said Gandalf. ‘He’s certainly been in it for longer than is normal for a hobbit even though he does not look much older than when he had his Adventure. That puzzles me, but there are things that happened then which even I do not know about.’
‘Will he come back to The Shire?’
‘No, he hopes to stay at Rivendell. He did think of asking you to go with him.’
‘Oh, no, I love The Shire. I could never leave it!’
‘Yes. That’s what he thought; therefore he is leaving Bag End to you.’
Frodo felt a brief wave of sadness at the idea of Bilbo going away from his home, to die perhaps in some strange place, but then he imagined himself and Nigella doing whatever they wanted in complete privacy. She could even scream her head off if she felt like it, and no-one would be there to complain!
He experienced a guilty surge of joy at the thought of Bilbo’s forthcoming departure, and for a moment decided that he didn’t really care a fig for whatever became of his old cousin – although he was grateful for the gift of Bag End. ‘When’s he going?’ he asked.
‘He plans to leave on the twenty-second of September; the night of his one hundred and eleventh birthday party,’ said Gandalf.
‘Not long to wait then!’ Frodo was delighted. ‘Oh! That’s my birthday too. Good old Bilbo! Best birthday present the old fellow could ever give me.’
Gandalf smiled and his eyes glazed over again; the morning sun had backlit Frodo’s nightshirt and had thrown the silhouette of his lower regions into sharp relief. Gandalf grasped his quill tightly. He rose and took himself off to the library.
Later, that same glorious day, a jubilant Frodo entered the noisy, smoke-filled confines of The Green Dragon and peered through the haze to locate Sam, Merry and Pippin. He saw that Bilbo was holding court at one of the tables, regaling his elderly companions with a few of his tales. There was a great deal of smirking and sniggering, which fell into a hush when Frodo walked past. As he made his way to where his friends were seated, the sniggering broke out again behind him and turned into raucous laughter peppered with ribald comments.
Someone slapped him on the back and said, ‘Got yourself a piece of that sweet little crumpet, did you? Nice work, son!’
Frodo frowned at the ill-mannered hobbit, and glared in Bilbo’s direction but Bilbo just shrugged his shoulders innocently.
You old blabbermouth, Frodo thought; I can’t wait for the twenty-second of September!
Sam, Merry and Pippin shuffled along the bench to make room for him. The three of them were staring at him with broad smiles on their faces. He couldn’t help smiling back at them, and then, suddenly feeling self-conscious, dropped his gaze and performed a minute examination of the stains on the table top.
‘Well, Frodo, I can sense a change in you. Has something happened since we saw you last? Something you’d like to tell us about?’ said Merry.
Frodo, tracing the outline of the beer stains with his finger, blushed and said nothing.
‘What do you think Pippin? Do you think there’s something different about Frodo tonight?’ asked Merry.
‘Oh, yes. Definitely! When he came in he looked more…’ Pippin searched for the right word, ‘…confident. Yes, he sort of strode in, didn’t he? What do you think, Merry?’
Merry placed his chin on his steepled fingers as though he were pondering one of life’s great mysteries. ‘Yes, indeed. Yes, striding in – almost like one of those big Men. It’s like he’s grown up overnight. I would even go so far as to say…’ he paused, and Sam and Pippin leaned forward to hear his pearl of wisdom, ‘…that he looks very cocksure!’
Pippin, Sam and Merry fell about laughing hysterically, and Frodo couldn’t stop himself from joining in – although he was mostly amused at how stupid they looked. The laughter died down, then Pippin broke wind, and the three of them lapsed into hysteria again. Frodo rolled his eyes and stood up; he was anxious to get to the bar to see Nigella.
‘What do you all want to drink? I’ll buy them.’
‘Well now, this is certainly different! It’s a rare occasion when Frodo digs into his pocket,’ exclaimed Merry.
‘Except when he’s…you know!’ Pippin demonstrated with a jerking movement of his hand, and collapsed in a fit of juvenile giggles.
‘Oh, sodding cherry pips! Do you want drinks or not?’ said Frodo curtly. The other three stared at him in shock. They’d never heard him use such strong language apart from the odd “bloody”, “blast” and, when the occasion warranted it, “snapping turtles”.
‘Er, I’ll have cider, thanks,’ said Sam.
Pippin and Merry thought they would as well and Frodo went to the bar, making sure he avoided Bilbo’s group of old deviants and perverts on the way.
Nigella looked even more beautiful than when he’d seen her that morning. Her hair was freshly washed and fell about her shoulders in a cloud of burnished gold. She was wearing a velvet bodice over her blouse. It was tightly laced and the tops of her breasts were like ivory pillows. Frodo had an urge to rest his head upon them.
She was serving another hobbit with ale. Frodo stared at her customer curiously. The fellow was quite handsome, although he had a certain unpleasant, rough look about him. He was around four feet tall so he had six inches over Frodo – and he looked like a giant compared to tiny Nigella. He seemed to be acting too familiarly with her, and Frodo felt a pang of jealousness.
His jealousy turned to anger when the other hobbit casually squeezed Nigella’s arm and said drunkenly, ‘That’s on the house then is it, my little trollop?’
Nigella pushed his hand away. ‘No, Mungo, you’d better pay for your ale. You’ll get me into trouble with the owner otherwise.’
Frodo, seething with rage, stepped towards the uncouth hobbit. Nigella noticed Frodo’s angry face and moved quickly to avert disaster – complete and utter disaster. She glared at Frodo and almost imperceptibly shook her head. Frodo sensed her urgency and stopped, although he felt puzzled.
‘All right, Mungo,’ said Nigella, looking at the inebriated hobbit with distaste, ‘I will take care of this one but no more after it.’
Mungo grunted and downed his ale in one go. ‘I’m going home now anyway. I’ll see you later.’ He belched and staggered out into the darkness.
They heard a crash and loud cursing just outside the door.
Nigella smiled. ‘Good!’ she said.
‘Who was that?’ asked Frodo.
‘Oh, no-one. Just a troublemaker.’
‘I can’t remember seeing him in here before now.’
‘I think he usually drinks at The Ploughman’s Arse.’
‘Do you know him?’
‘A little.’ She changed the subject. ‘Meet me outside in twenty minutes.’
She poured the cider into four mugs and passed them to Frodo. He touched her hand as he took the mugs from her; her fingers felt cool and damp, and he carried the drinks back to his companions in a state of slight arousal.
‘Oh ho!’ exclaimed Merry. ‘You escaped by the skin of your teeth then, didn’t you?’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Frodo, scowling at him.
‘That hobbit you were giving the eye to – he’s huge! I reckon he would’ve killed you if you’d stirred him up.’
‘I can look after myself.’
‘Frodo, tell us about what happened this morning: what was it like?’ asked Pippin suddenly.
‘Why would I tell you?’ Frodo was affronted by Pippin’s question.
‘Oh, go on.’
‘Yes, tell us, Frodo,’ agreed Merry. ‘Please.’
‘Why are you so interested? You three all know what it’s like. You act as though you do at least; the way you’re always going on about it,’ said Frodo.
‘Well, to tell the truth none of us has ever done it – not with a lass anyway,’ confessed Sam.
‘So please, please tell us, Frodo,’ pleaded Pippin.
‘Snapping turtles! No I won’t, and do you want to know why? Because it’s none of your bloody business, that’s why!’
More strong language! Sam, Merry and Pippin looked at Frodo in surprised amusement.
‘Look it doesn’t matter,’ grinned Sam. ‘You don’t need to tell us, Mr Frodo. We’ve already heard the whole story from Mr Bilbo.’
‘Yes, it appears that everyone knows, thanks to Bilbo.’ Frodo put his head in his hands and gave a short laugh. Oh well, it’s not long before he’s gone for good, he reminded himself.
‘Frodo, the juicy details would be the icing on the cake!’ coaxed Pippin.
‘Come now, Mr Frodo, don’t be embarrassed. We’re proud of you, aren’t we lads?’ Sam gave him a few hearty pats on the shoulder.
‘I’m not embarrassed,’ said Frodo. He was actually feeling quite proud of himself when he really thought about it. He got to his feet. ‘Bilbo might have told you about this morning but nobody knows about last night.’
‘Last night? Is that what you were up to?’ said Merry, impressed. ‘We thought you’d just buggered off home in a huff!’
Frodo gave them a superior smile and left. He heard Merry saying: ‘Twice? He’s done it twice? It’s not fair!’
Nigella watched Frodo walk out of the inn. He appeared to laughing about something. She called to him and he followed the sound of her voice eagerly. She kissed him and could taste the sweetness of cider.
‘Shall we go round the back of the inn?’ he asked, taking her hand as if to lead her there.
‘No, not tonight. I thought we might have done but now I think it isn’t wise.’
‘Oh.’ Frodo was disappointed. ‘Will you come to Bag End with me then?’
‘No, I do not have the time for that. I’m sorry but I must go home.’
‘I can walk with you if you like.’
‘No!’ she exclaimed, and then relented when she saw his hurt expression. ‘Perhaps you can walk part of the way with me.’
Frodo looked slightly happier. ‘Thank you, but why can’t I come to your home? Would your mother not approve of me?’
Nigella glanced at him quickly then looked away. ‘Something like that.’
This seemed to satisfy him although he appeared mildly offended. ‘Well I certainly wouldn’t want to cause you any trouble,’ he said.
Nigella laughed briefly, then went strangely quiet, and Frodo wondered whether her mood was going to change as suddenly as it had that morning. He was thankful he’d put a clean handkerchief in his pocket; he thought he might need to offer it to her. He put his arm around her shoulders and they walked in silence until they came to a crossroad.
‘This is where I must leave you, Frodo.’
‘So soon? Please, can we sit by the side of the lane for a few minutes before you go?’ Frodo looked quickly for suitable shrubbery on the grassy verge.
‘You only want to sit? I don’t believe you!’ smiled Nigella.
‘Well, no. To tell the truth, I’d prefer to lie with you. I promise I won’t take long.’
‘Now, I do believe that!’ she laughed.
‘Yes, I’m sorry I can’t sustain it. I seem to have no control over the blasted thing whatsoever, but, you know what they say: practice makes perfect!’ said Frodo, fluttering his eyelashes at her.
Nigella laughed again, and said, ‘It is no use. I cannot resist you! When you look at me like that, I am halfway to finishing even before we have started!’
‘Well then, you won’t be held up for very long at all, will you!’ Frodo smiled joyfully and kissed her, helpfully guiding her backwards to a patch of soft, velvety grass as he did so.
‘We have two minutes, Frodo, and I’m afraid that will have to do.’
Two minutes should be more than enough time – for me in any case, he thought, as his raging erection struggled for its freedom from his breeches. As it turned out, he kept it more or less under control and lasted for three before succumbing to its will. Nigella emitted her usual howling screams, and the flock of starlings that had moved there from the forest seven days earlier looked at each other in dismay and departed immediately from The Shire, never to be seen again.
‘Will you give me your underthings?’ Frodo asked.
‘Not this time Frodo.’
She hesitated, ‘Um...I will run out of knickers if I keep giving them to you!’
‘Oh, yes, of course,’ said Frodo, and then he secretly plucked a piece of grass from where they had lain to put in his memento box when he got home.
They embraced and he told her he loved her. She pulled away from him and said, ‘I’m glad you do,’ and ran off down the road and into the darkness.
‘Do you love me too?’ he called out, but she was already gone.
Frodo dawdled back to Bag End, contemplating Nigella’s furtiveness. He wasn’t sure if he found it intriguing, worrying, or just plain irritating.
Candlelight was shining from the windows of The Green Dragon as he walked past, so he decided to see whether his friends were still inside. Most of the crowd had gone home but, as he’d expected, Sam, Merry and Pippin had remained to guzzle ale until the last possible second before closing time. Pippin was underneath the table – he seemed to be unconscious.
‘Frodo! Frodo! Over here,’ yelled Merry, even though he was not more than three feet away. Sam sat smiling in a cross-eyed stupor, dribbling ale down his shirt front. Frodo was amazed at the state they were in, for he had only been away from them for a mere half hour.
Perhaps I should just leave, he thought, but Merry pulled him down onto the bench and stuck his silly face disturbingly close to his own.
‘Now, Frodo,’ he slurred. ‘TWICE!’
Frodo had no idea of what Merry was talking about, and stared at him quizzically.
‘Twice!’ repeated Merry. ‘You’ve done it twice – with a girl!’
‘Ah, so that’s what you’re going on about,’ said Frodo. ‘Thrice, actually,’ he added casually, and he got up and strode out of the inn like a Man.