BagEnd
Fic: The Memory Game - Beneath the Mistletoe Challenge - Hobbit Smut Fan Fiction Challenge Community
Phurveyors of Phreferred Pheriannath Phorn
pickledmushroom
hobbit_smut
pickledmushroom
Fic: The Memory Game - Beneath the Mistletoe Challenge
Name: pickledmushroom
Title: The Memory Game
Challenge: Beneath the Mistletoe
Word Count: 4557
Rating: R to NC-17
Pairings: Frodo/Sam and one other pairing. It will not be hard to work out, though.
Warnings: Het content, interspecies and the unmentioned pairing might cause squicking in sensitive persons.
Summary: In which Merry goes wassailing, Bilbo goes riding, some things are remembered and others forgotten. Also, there is Rosemary for Yule and proof that hobbitsmut is Good For Health. Mostly PWP, with a bit of C from H/C (Tolkien did all the H bit himself). Still, it is guaranteed canon.
Notes: Many thanks to Cara (cara_chapel) for the efficient and helpful beta. Any mistakes are my own. For those of you who are interested, the music now coming from my closet is Soave Sia il vento from Cosi.




"No, I am afraid I cannot remember. Remind me."

"Can you not?" she murmured, smoothing back his hair and kissing his brow. "Then I will tell you a tale you once told me; a tale of but a little while ago. I hope you will remember it."

She lightly kissed the tip of his nose and he smiled.

"But before I begin," her voice a silken ribbon flowing through his mind, "tell me truly if you also have no memory of this."

Her breath warmed his lips and he parted them automatically, expectant; and the moment was broken as they suddenly laughed together, the woods ringing with their delight. Without warning he clasped her to his breast and kissed her soundly, again and again.

"Help me to open another door, my dear," he exclaimed, "for it is both a relief and a joy that I cannot describe."

"For that you must lie still and regain your strength," she admonished swiftly.

"You set arduous tasks, my lady," he replied, resettling himself on his back amid the niphredil and nonchalantly unwinding a golden braid, "but I will endeavour to do as you bid." His eyes twinkled up at her, his intentions clearly wicked.

The expression was so utterly changed from the hollow visage of but two days before that she felt her heart could break with tenderness for him. Her patient and healer, counsellor and lover.

"This story is of a winter's day - "

"- like today -"

"- yes, but far to the north, where the trees do not remain golden; instead snow lies thickly on the ground and the evergreens and brings a hush to the earth. The snow is, I believe, what enabled the most famous burglar in the north to surprise you unawares."

"Almost unawares," he corrected mildly. "The snow and the - " His face darkened abruptly.

"Yes, but be glad that he is free of it."

He continued to frown. "I felt its cold briefly touch my heart that day. Yet at the time, I could not say what it was."

She placed a hand on his breast and spoke urgently. "Put aside your worries and your fears for the time you are here. No evil will come in that short while."

Several long seconds passed before he took her white hand in both of his and kissed it lingeringly, the tension in his body easing.

"Forgive me, my lady."

"All is forgiven," she replied peacefully. Her left hand embarked on a slow path down the side of his torso, drawing a shiver from him. "I wish you to dwell only on matters of happiness, both now and in memory."

"I will try, my lady."

"Tell me about that day with the famous burglar."

"I cannot remember."

"Try." Her hand drifted across his chest. "His name is 'Bilbo'."

"Bilbo," he repeated, as if recalling a long disused word, "Yes, that was the name. He was one hundred and ten, and the following autumn he left the Shire. I met Bilbo in the forest, on my way to his home - a hole - at an end of somewhere - a hill, yes, up a hill. He appeared from nowhere, using the natural skill of his people, his own cunning and, of course, the Ring - and succeeded in giving me quite a fright."

"You are more gravely ill than I had thought."

He looked up at her quizzically.

"If I have indeed heard you aright, you just admitted to being surprised by a halfling."

"It is but the ravings of an unquiet mind. I beg you to pay it no heed."

"As you wish." She placed a kiss on his mouth and smiled. "It is forgotten."

He resumed the search of his memory, speaking slowly but firmly. "Bilbo hatched some plan there and then, and asked me to play a part in the festivities - I know I agreed, for my love of him is great, but I do not now recall what part that was."

"It was the time of Yule," she prompted, "and I clearly remember your joy as you described it. Every halfling, from the wealthiest to the poorest, joining in the traditions, most of which seemed to involve food and drink."

"Is not the sole aim of a halfling's life but to praise Yavanna through indulging in the pleasures of the table?" he rejoined. "Their enthusiasm is such that the racket emanating from the Shire has to be heard to be believed."

"Then Yavanna must be well pleased indeed."

"And more than a little deaf." He gave a snort of laughter. "I can remember another day, an earlier yule, - yes, that day I see clearly - when Bungo Baggins with much ceremony invited me into Bag End - that's the name, Bag End, and I had come from visiting the Old Took - to see and taste Belladonna's new creation. A yule log."

She chuckled, as she looked down at him. "And I, in my amazement, asked you if the stomach of a halfling was so strong that they ate wood."

He stared fixedly ahead as the memory opened up before him. "Not only you, but I too was surprised, for I knew only of their tradition of burning a decorated log large enough to last all night. But as you would imagine, I said nothing of my puzzlement and allowed myself to be shown into the kitchen." He laughed. "And there was the eight-year-old Bilbo, well into the chocolate log-shaped cake, though due to its state it was difficult for me to instantly appreciate the fine work of his mother."

"I knew Bilbo must have worked hard at his profession in his youth," she said mischievously, "and he is now well rewarded. He is held in great esteem by the elves in Rivendell."

"He worked hard indeed. And although his homeland has almost forgotten it, so great was the effect of Belladonna's culinary invention that within ten years every hobbit family who had the means would burn their log and eat it too."

"Anyone would like to partake of such a pleasant tradition," she mused, her hands continuing their gentle exploration. She appeared to be fascinated by his body, as if she had never seen it before. "Tell me more about Bilbo's last Yule in the Shire, the one when you met him in the forest."

"I seem to remember a bay pony...." His voice trailed off and he sighed in frustration.

Her hand grazed lower and he sighed again, fixing his bright gaze on her face.

"You remember well." Her lips brushed his, then slowly began to follow the path that her hands had previously taken. "You walked with Bilbo to the stables where he saddled the pony and rode her around in the barn so she would work up a sweat - "

" - all so he could pretend that he had purchased the Yule goose in Frogmorton. Poor Marigold. She suspected from the first it was her beloved pet, but lately gone missing, that emerged from the Baggins' oven all basted and browned, even though she was told that Rosemary had flown away. She never truly believed them."

"The desire to protect one's child from the truth in Arda is mirrored in all of Eru's children. Yet if they were protected from all potential sorrows, they would never discover the greatest joys." Her head dipped lower. "Tell me more."

"Ah - do not stop!"

"Tell me what you remember," the gentle order came in his mind, "or I will stop."

"Names," he gasped, "I cannot recall any other names."

"Then I will give you some. Samwise, Meriadoc, Fredegar, Peregrin - "

"Peregrin was not there that Yule," he stated firmly. "Otherwise some disaster would surely have occurred. To begin with, Rosemary would have gone missing a second time."

Her clear laughter poured through him, like a pure light rushing into a newly breached prison wall, illuminating even the darkest recesses where pain had lodged itself.

"And Meriadoc," he continued feverishly, forestalling the execution of her threat. "Meriadoc roused the whole party at Bag End to go wassailing at midnight but managed, in his excitement, to leave Frodo behind."

"Much wine had, I understand, disappeared by this time."

"Mmmm.....Yes, it had. And that would probably explain the sudden reasoning that running around outside on a freezing night was a good idea. Through the parlour window I could see the eighteen year old Meriadoc leading the way, followed by Bilbo and all his guests. How Meriadoc convinced them all to go I will never fathom." He smiled at the memory. "Meanwhile Frodo, who thought everyone was still in the middle of a kissing game, sat in the parlour wearing the traditional blindfold."

"And you were - ?" Her voice was light with mirth.

"I remained in the corner and waited - merely for my own amusement - to see how long it would be before he realised his predicament. It was not long before the silence of the smial alerted him that something queer was going on. He stiffened and listened attentively and was just raising his hand to remove the blindfold when a slight noise from the hallway stayed his movement.

"Then young Samwise walked into the parlour. The next part happened so quickly that by the time I realised I ought to leave, I could do nothing that would not cause utter mortification in both of them. My only hope was that my presence remained unnoticed. The corner was dark, and the light from the fire was low."

"Frodo had forgotten you were there?"

"Evidently. And I found it easy to read their minds, though I suspect any child of Eru endowed with the most basic observational powers would have been capable of doing so, such was their eloquence."

"You can remember?"

"I cannot say." He smiled. "I do know that Samwise found himself in a position where even the most morally upright halfling would have opted to lie down."

"Show me what you remember and I will help you, if indeed you find you need it."

As he hesitated, her voice caressed his mind. "It is a beautiful tale, filled with love and light. After such great darkness, you have never needed it more. Come. Remember."

****

Frodo could see nothing but a smudge of orange light from the grate. After some time, which was notable only for a lack of anything resembling kissing, he realised that he could also hear nothing but the intermittent crackle and hiss from the fire. The smial had become, all of a sudden, unusually quiet.

He frowned and tried to dismiss the concern that he was not going to be kissed by a hobbit. He attempted to calculate how long it would take to fetch something small, portable and possibly slimy - and failed. To begin with, he was unsure how long he had been sitting in front of the fire. The large dinner and significant quantity of mulled wine had made his wits pleasantly foggy. He would give it another minute or two before he broke the rules and peeked.

*

Samwise watched through the kitchen window as the cavalcade of would-be wassailers marched down The Hill, rather earlier than expected. Usually the drive to howl in the cold at the neighbours was powerful enough only after sufficient drink had been imbibed but he was sure it was still before midnight. They had been quick this year. He had just arrived from the Bagshot Row Yule feast, as some minimal stacking and sweeping tonight would ease the load tomorrow. Bilbo had a full house as usual, and undoubtedly those guests would require vast quantities of restorative tea and special pampering, such as baths, on the morrow.

He padded down the hallway, his head feeling rather lighter on his shoulders than it ought, considering he was planning to handle Bilbo's prized possessions. He stepped into the parlour, reminding himself to concentrate - and then wondered if he had drunk far more ale than he could recall.

Frodo was seated under the mistletoe, his straight back and slightly-open mouth giving an air of expectancy to him, despite much of his expression being hidden by a blindfold. His head was turned towards the soft noise of Sam's footsteps.

It took only a few seconds for Sam to comprehend his young master's predicament, and his first instinct was to alert Frodo to the change in plan. But Sam discovered that he was unable to utter a word, for his tongue had cleaved to the roof of his mouth. The wine and firelight had tinted Frodo's lips and cheeks an inviting rosy pink, the mistletoe suspended above coyly beckoned and the fire whispered a multitude of temptations in Sam's ear. It was still early; it was still Yule: that one day of the year when servants were treated as equals to their masters. He could play this game with Frodo just this once; Sam could steal a gentle kiss and Frodo would be none the wiser. It was all perfectly allowed.

He could not now tell Frodo to remove the blindfold anyway. Sam was feeling that his breeches were terribly tight and he was becoming harder by the second. It would never do to let Frodo see him in such a state. No - Sam should tell him that the others had left; he should simply tell him. He could walk back into the hallway and poke his head around the door, after which Sam would go out and accidentally fall over in the snow and Frodo would never suspect a thing.

Without realising, he stared at the rise and fall of the young master's chest, mesmerised by its regular movement.

The clock on the mantelpiece stuck the three-quarter hour and Sam's fate was sealed. His vision filled with the sight of Frodo's voluptuous lips, just moistened by the tip of the tongue. The drying effect of the fire may have induced this action, or perhaps it was nervous anticipation. Sam's own tongue darted out, due entirely to the latter. Just a feather-light kiss and he would vanish like a pleasant dream.

Initially, his plan worked beautifully. The quietest of measured steps to reach the chair; a hand placed on each armrest to steady himself, for his legs wobbled a bit, and a pause to allow the twisting in his gut and hard twitching in his breeches to subside. Meanwhile Frodo, sensing a close presence, lifted his face, as if offering himself to Sam as a gift - then Sam touched his mouth to his master's and was lost.

Frodo's lips were soft and pleasantly yielding and there was sweet wine on his breath. His mouth tasted exotic, of allspice and cloves, spices that Sam knew only by their heady scent in the market. Yet there was something more alluring: an inviting warm darkness that promised wondrous things. A fire surged through his body and along his arms, threatening to consume him from the inside: a raging flame contained by sinking his hands into a mass of dark hair, tugging gently and kissing deeper still. Hands placed themselves on his shoulders, hesitated a moment, then slid down his arms and up his chest, exploring quickly but thoroughly. Sam had a fleeting thought that using one's hands was not strictly allowed, but since he had already broken that rule himself, it was only fair that Frodo could too.

Whatever those elegant hands had discovered must have pleased the young master, for Frodo returned the kiss with renewed eagerness, opening to Sam as a flower does for the sun. Sam decided that he understood why the butterflies in summer appeared perpetually drunk, for they too extended their tongues and dipped repeatedly into the deepest parts of the flower to find the sweetest nectar. But Sam was not a butterfly and his initial attempt to alight on Frodo's lap resulted in squashed legs and a squeak of discomfort. He backed away, and determined not to break the one kiss he had allowed himself to steal, managed to pull Frodo to his feet.

The young master seemed to be quite preoccupied with Sam's coarse homespun shirt, for his hands made several passes over every part of it. Sam meanwhile was appreciating how easily a waistcoat could slip off a hobbit; really he had barely touched the thing. The festive red linen shirt was equally flimsy. It felt so exquisite to his fingertips that he was sure only an elven princess with a golden spinning wheel could have produced the thread. Yet material so fine was obviously designed to be worn once only, for it disintegrated under his hands. He didn't care.

A moan escaped into the night and Sam felt as if he were disintegrating under Frodo's hands. His own shirt, despite its well-wearing properties, had curiously suffered an identical fate to the young master's. Up until that point, Sam had no idea of two things: firstly, that male nipples had any use whatsoever, and secondly that producing involuntary noises might give him away. Coherent thoughts on the latter being mutually exclusive with the former, particularly with Frodo latched on like that, meant that Sam spent the next minute or two alternating between struggling with the buttons on Frodo's breeches and attempting to grind him into the table. Close by, the meagre remains of Belladonna's invention looked in dire peril.

"Wait - "

A groan of frustration ensued, but Frodo's soft command prevailed. Sam paused, breathing heavily and acutely aware that a trembling had laid hold of his lower limbs. He wondered if lying down was against the rules of the kissing game. But there were no rules, could be no rules when Frodo set about removing Sam's breeches and underwear with a rapid efficiency rivalling one who reaches the privy in the nick of time. But there was no time to marvel at this new revelation of his master's ability, for Frodo's hand darted down and took him in a blissfully strong grip, giving both relief and further torment. If this kept up it would be all over, both figuratively and literally, in one minute rather than the hoped-for three. In an effort to avoid this and collapsing completely, for the trembling in his legs had worsened considerably, he managed to guide Frodo onto the rug in a narrow strip between the fire and the chair.

It felt somehow more private down here. The chair was a bulky leather affair, neatly blocking the lines of sight to the hall and much of the parlour, and he could finally get down to the proper business of stripping away those bothersome trousers. That removing the young master's trousers in what could only truthfully be described as a frenzy was unlikely to be 'proper' in any sense of the word escaped him. He was utterly powerless against the impulse that moved him, now searching blindly for the most direct path to completion. Sam wanted all of Frodo, at once, but was too overwhelmed to decide on an order of service: whether to plunder his mouth or taste his throat, discover every inch of skin, particularly the firmer bits, or caress impossibly soft foot fur.

Once again, Frodo gently took control.

*

From a range of vantage points in the parlour, it suddenly appeared that Bilbo's favourite chair had acquired a cluster of four furred appendages. They moved and stroked each other in short, jerky movements. The chair also began to emit a variety of noises, squeaks and groans and suchlike, quite understandable in the springs of a chair that age, though oddly without anyone actually seated in it. What was queerer still was that the chair began to talk - and to itself, no less.

"Wait - "

It moaned. "No - "

"Yes."

The leather creaked and a moment later a long, fine-boned hand protruded from a side wing and groped along the table. The fingers encountered the sorry remains of the Yule log cake and it appeared to be what they sought, for they plunged eagerly into the chocolate-butter icing, scooping up a goodly amount. Not a moment too soon, either, for the chair retracted the arm at twice the speed at which it had extended it and the fingers vanished with their prize.

The clock on the mantelpiece ticked loudly and together with the snap of the fire created an intricate rhythm of unending fascination. Then:

"Sir - "

"Shh - you taste so good. Let me - "

"Oh - "

"- taste you - again. Right - there."

"Ah - "

"Is it good?"

"Yes!"

"Do you want more?"

"Yes - oh, Sir - "

"Mmm. I'll need a little more now."

It was evident that over the years Bilbo's chair had somehow acquired a taste for chocolate-butter icing, something not unreasonable considering Bilbo's penchant for it from his youth. Once again it reached out an arm, this time locating its target precisely, and dragged a finger over the whole cake board in an effort to collect enough to sate its appetite. Then the arm disappeared again.

"Oh, this is all that is left." The chair didn't sound particularly disappointed. "We had better not waste it - what do you think?"

"Yes, I mean - no, don't waste it."

"You can tell me to stop whenever you wish."

"Please. No. Don't stop."

"You can tell me to stop."

"No - no."

"Tell me to stop."

"Don't make me wait - Ah!"

"Shh - lie still. Tell me to stop."

"I can't - "

"You can. Tell me to stop."

"Sir, I can't - I - "

"Tell me - "

"Harder!"

"Tell me - "

"Harder - now - please!"

"Tell me!"

"Frodo - Master - Ah!"

Unable to contain itself any longer, it released a series of incoherent cries, a rising crescendo peaking at a long wail - followed by a deep silence. After a minute or two, a very careful listener would catch its final word, quiet as a breath.

"Sam."

It would never speak again.

The clock struck midnight.

*

Sam awoke with a start, unwillingly shaking away the delicious lassitude that had crept over his limbs. Frodo lay stretched out on his side, his nude form bathed in the low firelight. The long day of festivities and the bout of rather strenuous exercise had taken their toll. He was asleep.

Hastily flinging on his clothes, Sam surveyed the scene. It was after midnight; therefore, he was back to being a servant in the Baggins' employ, though in truth he had never left it. He put Frodo's clothes, including the now-shredded red shirt, in a pile and went to fetch a blanket to cover him. It would be better to somehow get him into bed - actually, the rug served you perfectly well a voice murmured dryly in his mind - rather than leave him to be found by Bilbo and the remainder of the guests. But how to do it without waking Frodo and thus giving away his nocturnal lover's identity? Fears of a multitude of consequences now crowded about him. He walked back to the parlour with the quietest tread he could muster in an effort to ensure Frodo's continued slumber. He crept up to the young master, blanket in hand - and froze.

Frodo was no longer wearing the blindfold. Sam had no recollection of when Frodo might have removed it, seconds or minutes or, well, minutes ago. Granted, Sam did have his back to Frodo for much of that time.

If Sam had already been discovered, there was little he could do about it now, except to face any decreed punishment like a hobbit. Until then, he would continue to look after the young master as he had always done. Wrapping the blanket around Frodo's shoulders, Sam woke him with soft words and guided the half-asleep hobbit through the tunnel to his bedroom.

"Good night, Sam."

"Good night, Sir."

****

She smiled down at him, moving slowly. "You remember well. Yet it is interesting that you did not look away until the sight was taken from you."

"Actually, my lady, there you are wrong. I could still draw for you the pattern of Bilbo's carpet, should you so desire."

"You remember!"

"I do. And you forget."

"I - ?"

"- that I would have had to stop my ears as well. Even had I done so it would have been small comfort to them had they discovered me. And Narya - "

"You did not use one of the Three to ignite passions between two halflings!"

"- is sensitive to any strong emotions, so that even if I had been sound asleep at the other end of the hole, I would still have been aware of them. It is currently burning my finger."

She grinned. "I apologise."

"For what, my lady? Suspecting me of using Narya inappropriately, or for keeping me waiting?"

Her smile stretched even wider. "Only for the former."

"In that case, there is no need to apologise. I admit the thought did enter my mind and I was tempted to use it, in the time after that event, to guide them back towards each other. Each time I visited, I asked Frodo about his health and doings and I would also ask after Sam. Though I felt great devotion from both of them as you yourself have witnessed, there was no indication that they had sought any further encounters."

"Is this proof that it is possible for a first experience together to be too overwhelming, so that neither wishes for a second for fear that it cannot be repeated?"

"I think not, my lady. Say, rather, that both acutely felt the weight of the expectations of their society. I am sorry for them that it should be so."

"I wish too it could have been otherwise." She thought for a moment. "Yet it is possible this situation strengthens their position greatly for the quest. The fastest of friends, bound to each other, yet without the pain they would undoubtedly suffer had they pursued their desires further. Do not grieve. They may yet find each other again."

"I cannot tell. Until this war is won or lost, there is much I cannot foresee."

"Yet now you remember the past with but a little thought. It gladdens my heart to see this change."

"It gladdens me to know I have pleased you, my lady. Allow me to please you better."

"Soon," she murmured, "very soon. But there is something of this story I do not know, for you did not tell me before. What was that plan that Bilbo devised when you met him in the forest that day?"

A long silence ensued as he tried to find the answer in the depths of his memory. Then a smile, brighter than the Sun, lit his face.

"Bilbo dressed me all in white and put a wreath of holly on my head. He and his guests then invited me to walk through the front door of Bag End as the Spirit of Winter."

"How fitting it is that soon you will be dressed in white for them again. I feel it is a good omen." She moved a little faster. "Though I never did ask you..."

"Ask me now, but make haste, I beg of you, before you take away all my thoughts."

"Whom was it exactly that taught you all about their ways in less than a month?"

He threw back his head and laughed, then pulled her to his chest and rolled her over.

"Ah, my dear, now that would be telling."


*****End*****



"Naked I was sent back.....And naked I lay upon the mountain-top.......And so at the last Gwaihir the Windlord found me again......'Do not let me fall!' I gasped, for I felt life in me again. 'Bear me to Lothlórien!'
'That indeed is the command of the Lady Galadriel who sent me to look for you,' he answered.
Thus it was that I came to Caras Galadhon and found you but lately gone. I tarried there in the ageless time of that land where days bring healing not decay. Healing I found, and I was clothed in white."
The White Rider, TTT.

Healing first, clothes second. It's canon!

20 comments or Leave a comment
Comments
rabidsamfan From: rabidsamfan Date: December 22nd, 2004 01:32 pm (UTC) (Link)
Oh, marvelous! Such delight, and such a wonderful application of buttercream frosting!

And of course, healing first...
pickledmushroom From: pickledmushroom Date: December 23rd, 2004 05:07 am (UTC) (Link)
I think hobbitsmut has permanently warped my mind. I can't even look at cake icing any more without thinking - yes, well. Glad you liked it.
abby_normal From: abby_normal Date: December 22nd, 2004 02:22 pm (UTC) (Link)
Oh, this is fabulous! Gandalf never gets any and for you to wind his own bit of respite in with that of Frodo and Sam was a stroke of sheer genius. Wonderfully done and a very welcome first contribution. Welcome and thank you so much for playing!
pickledmushroom From: pickledmushroom Date: December 23rd, 2004 05:11 am (UTC) (Link)
I wondered why Gandalf didn't get any - is it the wrinkles and beard effect? Frankly, he's a maia so he could be with Galadriel and looking like Sean Bean if he wanted to.
Thanks for allowing the late entry :-)
(Deleted comment)
pickledmushroom From: pickledmushroom Date: December 23rd, 2004 05:17 am (UTC) (Link)
Ah, my Great and Glorious Beta! *worships*
Without you, everyone would be scratching their heads going "Huh?"
And all the rellies are here now, so the timing was perfect ;-)
(Deleted comment)
pickledmushroom From: pickledmushroom Date: December 23rd, 2004 05:20 am (UTC) (Link)
*happy purr back*
I'm thrilled to know you enjoyed it. Thanks!
empressaurelius From: empressaurelius Date: December 22nd, 2004 06:32 pm (UTC) (Link)
Nnnggg, this was fantastic, hon! Thank you for sharing it with us!
pickledmushroom From: pickledmushroom Date: December 23rd, 2004 05:22 am (UTC) (Link)
Ah, it was fun to write. And made those long-haul flights just, well, fly by :-) I'll never be bored on a flight again.
empressaurelius From: empressaurelius Date: December 23rd, 2004 05:53 am (UTC) (Link)
Hahaha!
semyaza From: semyaza Date: December 23rd, 2004 01:29 am (UTC) (Link)
I'm so glad that Sam didn't accidentally fall over in the snow, and I hope that they did/do find each other again. Frodo by firelight--who could resist?

What a lovely thing to sneak into a tiny and perhaps puzzling part of the canon. It seems appropriate that Gandalf should have some joy after all his exertions. Thank you! :D
pickledmushroom From: pickledmushroom Date: December 23rd, 2004 05:25 am (UTC) (Link)
It seems appropriate that Gandalf should have some joy after all his exertions.

It does, doesn't it? The poor guy works hard enough and nobody ever gives him any fun :-( I thought I ought to try and redress the balance a bit.
malakhai From: malakhai Date: December 23rd, 2004 02:51 am (UTC) (Link)
*standing ovation*

First of all, YAY GANDALF GET SOME!!

Second of all, the image of the chair was just priceless. What a delightful perspective!
pickledmushroom From: pickledmushroom Date: December 23rd, 2004 05:29 am (UTC) (Link)
I'm glad to hear that not only Gandalf in a fic didn't send you running away screaming, but you think he is as well deserving of it as I do. And think about it - in 100 odd years, there is probably nothing that Bilbo's chair hasn't already seen ;-)
cassiopeia3019 From: cassiopeia3019 Date: December 24th, 2004 01:39 am (UTC) (Link)
Wow, your writing is wonderful. Yay for Gandalf and Sam and Frodo! Thank you for such a Yuletide treat.
pickledmushroom From: pickledmushroom Date: December 30th, 2004 09:17 pm (UTC) (Link)
Thanks so much - I'm very glad to know that you liked it (the compressed time frame for writing was a bit of a worry for me).
elanorgardner From: elanorgardner Date: December 29th, 2004 06:23 am (UTC) (Link)
From a range of vantage points in the parlour, it suddenly appeared that Bilbo's favourite chair had acquired a cluster of four furred appendages. They moved and stroked each other in short, jerky movements. The chair also began to emit a variety of noises, squeaks and groans and suchlike, quite understandable in the springs of a chair that age, though oddly without anyone actually seated in it. What was queerer still was that the chair began to talk - and to itself, no less.

This is priceless!! Heavens. Chocolate and hobbits and Gandalf gets some and .... What a Yuletide treat!

And this It would never speak again. Somehow funny and very very sad at the same time, given the picture in my head of the Scouring. *wonders about Bilbo's chair*

Absolutely wonderful.

Thanks so much for participating in the challenge!! And from 30,000 feet no less!

EG
pickledmushroom From: pickledmushroom Date: December 30th, 2004 09:27 pm (UTC) (Link)
Hee! I think the rarified air in the cabin affected my brain. That was when I started thinking - "Gandalf, hmmm...."
I'm glad you appreciated the chocolate. Quite a while ago, someone was demanding "more chocolate in Middle-Earth" - I thought I would help out :-)
As for Bilbo's chair...well, I know what happened to it, but that story is perhaps better told by a different fic.
Thanks for the fun challenge!
rubynye From: rubynye Date: January 4th, 2005 01:56 am (UTC) (Link)
Wow!

What a grand, inventive, original story!

Gandalf! I've always thought he should get some, but I know I can't write it, so I'm glad you did, and I *love* who you paired him with, the corner of canon you drew that out of.

The hobbits partying! The kissing game! The buttercream! I'm going to *blush* the next time I make chocolate buttercream, I really will.

This was splendidly, splendidly done. Thank you for writing such a grand story!
pickledmushroom From: pickledmushroom Date: January 6th, 2005 05:50 am (UTC) (Link)
*bows* Thank you for your lovely comments.

I *love* who you paired him with, the corner of canon you drew that out of.
Ah, Canon. Isn't it great what can be found in it as an excuse for smut?

I'm going to *blush* the next time I make chocolate buttercream, I really will.
Hee! Ahem, I mean, sorry. But if you *do* blush, just say that all that hand-beating is hot work. I do.
mariole From: mariole Date: March 5th, 2006 07:07 pm (UTC) (Link)
What a gorgeous story. Moving, humorous, so tender.

I truly love your work. Best wishes to you, wherever you're roaming. :)
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