Business at the Prancing Pony

by

Poncing Ponies

So it was with Ring-wraiths at our back ends and dark roads ahead, we came to the sign of the Prancing Pony. Mr Frodo knocked at the door and asked for entrance, but the minder of the town gates seemed to take fright at our faces.

"You again!" cried the gatekeeper. "And three other Hobbits! No no no, you cannot come through."

"But we have business at The Prancing Pony," said Mr Frodo, his hood pulled about his rain drenched face, shivering in a tremendously sympathy inducing manner. "Please, it is dark and cold out here."

"Frightened, wet, little Hobbits," The man seemed suddenly to have taken ill, for he gave a whimper and his hand rattled the bolts overly much as if shaking with fever. "You best come in then."

Mr Frodo gave him a grateful smile as we passed through.

"Oi!" called out Harry from his watch house. "Oughtn't I to get some thanks for it?"

Mr Frodo frowned as he regarded the man, his shabby clothing and dirty face, and shrugged his shoulders. "Sam, would you thank this gentleman for me?"

"But Mr Frodo, Sir," I tugged on his cloak to call attention to the fact that he still had the master's purse and I had not a penny in my trouser pockets.

"Good Sam, we will meet you around the corner." Mr Frodo must not have heard my distress and certainly the matter of the Ring weighed heavy on his mind. He went on ahead with Merry and Pippin, both of whom were looking with astonishment at all the Big People walking the streets.

"Well," I offered my hand and shook his fiercely. "Thank you so very much for . . ."

What a friendly big folk! He clasped me into a strong embrace and ran his hand up and down my back in a comradely manner. Muttering: "What I wouldn't give to dine on that rich Hobbit rump."

"That is a very kind offer, Sir," I was pleased as all Hobbits are at invitations to dinner! "But alas, I must be off with Mr Frodo. Goodbye and Thank You!"

Jogging, I found my friends and we entered the inn. I cannot say I cared for the patrons there much on first sight. They were a dreary lot, drinking mightily and saying little that was discernable as conversation. Hoots and whistles mainly. I suppose they don't often see Hobbits from the Shire at places like this. Mr Frodo inquired after Gandalf the Grey.

"He's this tall . . . " Mr Frodo pointed at his own eyes. ". . . at the crotch, that is. Big hat, sports tan. Intense eyes shining with inner strength."

"Sorry, little Master, haven't seen anyone like that," The innkeeper shook his head. "Though, if you're after that grimy old Wizard you've been stalking, he's not here."

Mr Frodo glared up at the man long and hard, opening his eyes really wide, the bright orbs through which Mr Frodo's good soul shone welling up with unshed tears.

"Knock it off, I haven't seen him!" Butterbur raised his hands in the air. "Honest! Please, Mr UNDERHILL, I don't want no trouble, just, get a table and have some food. Lots of it. On the house. Nob! Bob!"

A cheerful looking Hobbit came out of the kitchens and smiled at us, greeting Mr Frodo in a friendly manner as if this weren't the first time they'd met!

"I'll be taking your luggage to the Hobbit wing as usual, but seeing as you've used the Eyes on old Butterbur, he's in such a state now, he'll be needing me and Bob and that harness in the Stables to work him out of it," Nob grinned. "I do love it when you visit, Frodo."

"That's all right, Sam'll carry it up, won't you Sam?" Mr Frodo touched my arm with his hand. "You're so much stronger than me."

I nodded enthusiastically, blushing the while at Mr Frodo noticing my Hobbitly girth and feeling all a-flutter as if there were foot-hair in my stomach as his hand lingered. "Yes, Mr Frodo."

Thinking about Mr Frodo's fragile frame, his dimpled (not chunky!) chin, dainty little arms and slender backside, I stowed away our packs. Sure, all that talk between him and the Inn's people was very odd, but it isn't my business to go sticking myself in Mr Frodo's affairs. After all, he is the smartest Hobbit in Hobbiton and learned his letters from Old Mr Baggins and was now heir to the Ring. I threw a couple of faggots onto the fire for Mr Frodo's comfort and went down to join him once again.

Mr Frodo sat forlorn at our table when I returned. Giving his bread and butter a dismissive glance, he sighed. "Oh Sam, I am so worried, Gandalf is never late." At which he paused. "No, wait, he's always late, or comes too early (this he said grudgingly), I ought not have worried. Oh, you are a comfort to talk to, Sam!"

Bowing my head, I smiled broadly (and still hadn't managed one word edgewise) as he embraced me with brotherly affection, kissing my head with the lips of friendship and squeezing my ribs with the arms of quasi-familial bonding. Not sure what he was poking me with in the tummy (damn insensitive layer of fat padding) travelling stick I suppose.

Just as I thought I'd drifted off to the Elf havens, I noticed a figure cloaked in shadow, smoke and a black robe sitting in the corner, his eyes glowing with the red embers of the pipe he smoked. Oh no! Someone saw me and Mr Frodo exercising innocent affection! If word of this got back to the Shire, I'd have to dance with Rosie till my legs ran off with her and still be talked of!

"That man has been looking at you all night." That got Mr Frodo's attention. He snapped his head around and peeked at the stranger.

"I think he likes what he sees!" cried Mr Frodo with much excitement. "That Ranger - always wanted to do one of them - over there is boldly staring at us. Forget Gandalf, this fellow is handsome. All right, Sam, kiss me!"

*Now* I know what it is like to have an instant explosion in the head. Mr Frodo grabbed my hips and pressed himself against me (definitely not travelling stick), pulling my hand over his slim back, moaning loudly. "Oh Sam! Sam! Wow, we are two male Hobbits getting it on, we are sssooo hot."

"Mr Frodo, control yourself!" I protested breathlessly. "Or I will . . . I will . . . quite soon shame myself!"

"Oh, my dear Sam." He circled my neck with his arms, saying sotto voce as he bit my ear, "I'm only teasing him and look its working, here he comes!" Can you blame me for hating the mysterious fellow on sight when he came a striding and ripped Mr Frodo from my arms!

"That is enough!" said he, in an annoyingly soft and charming voice, kept low as if he were a dangerous rogue with many secrets. Instantly, Mr Frodo was intrigued. "You have drawn far too much unwanted attention to yourself, Mr Underhill."

I jumped up to protest, for it was but a showing of intimate mateship and nothing to stare (or throw coins) at. This strider might have been a frightfully good wrestler though, for Mr Frodo was instantly pliant in his hands, one might say nubile, if one cared not about the reputation of their fair employers. I'm sure he was putting up a fight to the death in between running his hands through the strapping man's hair and squeaking "Put me down, you rude, sweaty, muscly chap!" For instance, the strategy of winding his legs tightly about the man's hips could have hindered him from walking very fast. The fumbling in the man's long dark robe was certainly prelude to Mr Frodo finding his sword and skewering him in the midst of his merriment. Yet somehow, these plans were foiled and the man, breathing loudly through his nose with exertion, dragged Mr Frodo up the stairs, exclaiming, "Be still, you bad Hobbit, or I shall smack your bottom before all these good people." So it was on pain of unusual torture that Mr Frodo succumbed.

Soon as they disappeared at the turn of the stairs, I leapt up from my chair in search of a weapon. Merry, who had been watching with rapt attention, pulled me back down and asked what I was doing.

"I'll go rescue Mr Frodo, of course. You saw him being kidnapped by that Ranger!" I lost my temper at the Brandybuck. "No wonder folks call you stupid and say Brandybucks oft have affairs with their own cousins!"

"Sam, you great ass." Merry clapped me on the head. "What demon possesses you to interfere in Frodo's affairs? It took us many months of sweet talk with mouths and hands to convince him to bring us along, don't you dare ruin our night of fun."

Now I was truly confounded. "You think being chased by black riders a bonny game?"

"Black riders?" Merry lifted my cup and sniffed it.

"Ring wraiths!" I snatched my drink back, with a cautious look around us. "They are, you know, after Mr Frodo's ring."

"Oh? Ohh!" Merry lifted up his eyebrows. "Those guys! Well, can you blame them? Who wouldn't want a go at Mr Frodo's ring? Haha, Strider must be enjoying it even as we speak."

"I waste time prattling on with you, when that heathen is tormenting Mr Frodo for the ring!" I tore at my hair with frustration. "Stay and be a guffawing coward! I go!"

"Asswise Gamgee! You love-sick idiot," snapped Merry with frustration. "I'll come with you and see how Frodo likes you rescuing him from that brawny dream!" Saying so, Merry grabbed a chair. "The better to sit and watch your face!"

I had feared it was too late to discern which room Strider has taken Mr Frodo in, but alas, shrill screams coming from one door told a chilling tale.

"No, it is awfully big, please, please don't make me!" shrilled the poor victim. "Help! Some body help me!"

"Mr Frodo! Don't let him take your first harvest!" shouted I, throwing all of my formidable weight into the door.

"Sam! Oh Sam, quickly!" Nimble hands pulled free the bolts and suddenly I was inside the room, with white knuckled fingers grasping my knees and wracking wails breaking my heart.

"Oh Frodo!" In my haste I forgot to call him Mr, how frightfully improper! (But exciting!)

"Thank you, thank you!" blubbered the misshapen lump at my feet. "Kind hearted Hobbit, this Ranger is ever so grateful to you!"

In shock, I looked down and discovered it was Strider's bony face rubbing against my thighs. With a manly squeal, I leapt back. "Where is Mr Frodo?"

Strider gave no answer to my question. So I stepped back and kicked him, quite gently I assure you, in the ribs. Strider began to cry like a babe wanting his mother. I certainly discerned the words 'Arwen' and 'Bosom'. His face covered by one hand, he pointed a shaky finger at the bed.

On Strider's over-large bed, a small bundle lay curled beneath the sheets, tossing about like a young sapling in a storm. There was so much horror in Strider's expression as I drew nearer, that I took care and lifted the sheets in one quick tug. And began to scream and run in circles and look for a stick of firewood to poke my own eyes out. For with great disrespect I had glimpsed Mr Frodo, nude! And, well, strangling his own bunny rabbit!

Amidst the yelling, the scampering and my palpitating heartbeat, I stumbled over Strider and together we crawled to a corner of the room, hugging one another.

"Take it easy, it's just Frodo with his ring on." Merry stood up from his chair, crossing the room. "Watch me, Sam, and learn, so you can do it next time. Imagine if you could, the largest mushroom in the Maggot farm," Merry stretched his jaw wide.

"I needn't!" moaned Strider. "He's as big as my face."

"Only because you waited and watched him grow without giving any assistance," shot back Merry. "You needed only put your mouth or hand or rump around him and he'd soon deflate. Thusly."

So Merry began to lick Mr Frodo's fungus and as he did, the large bulbous organ began to shrink back to normal and Mr Frodo panted softly, rubbing at Merry's neck with his hands. I could scarce breathe with nor could I tear my eyes away. Strider stirred beside me and a foul smell entered the air. With a start, I realised it must be the pungent scent of Man's arousal. Eww. As Merry worked arduously, I saw a queer thing at the base of Mr Frodo's appendage. It glimmered gold in the candlelight: it was Mr Bilbo's Ring!

"Alas Sam, it is," came Mr Frodo's thin voice, sighing and whispery as if he were in the throes of high fever. "I have lied to you and hid the true uses of the ring."

"Forgive me, Mr Frodo," I looked away from his flushed face and red bitten lips. "I cannot . . . talk to you . . . when you're . . . in such a state. It isn't polite!"

"But Sam, I'm in such pain and pleasure, I fear I'll die before I can tell you the truth." Mr Frodo reached out for me and abruptly I found courage in my love for him and overcame my embarrassment. I held his hand and resolutely did not let my eyes slip below his chin. Smiling, he bestowed a light kiss to my palm and I found myself having to kneel on the bed, in case the moment came over me and I fell to the ground like lumber.

"That uncouth Man . . . " Mr Frodo pinned Strider with a look. " . . . promised me the greatest sword in all of Middle Earth. And a sheath to match! But when I slipped the ring on and showed him the proportions of a Hobbit, he lost his knightly courage, crying 'I do not want the ring, my ancestors have fallen before it!' But the ring cannot just be unworn once it is put on, after all: One ring to bring them in and in the darkness prick them!"

"Are you badly injured, Mr Frodo?" I clutched his shoulder, oh poor valiant Mr Frodo, who misplaced his favour on Strider. Why, if it was me who faced the monster that sprung from Mr Frodo's nether-front, I'd . . . I stopped, the insidiously obvious rushing upon me. With blind groping hands, I pushed Merry out of the way and dove to hug and kiss Mr Frodo's - ring.

Mr Frodo's reply was a long shudder and a moment of lasting silence, then the most tender encouragements and sweet endearments as a husband might whisper to his virgin wife. But even as I was inexperienced in the matter of Mr Frodo's . . . ring, I was no timid bride. "I'm as hard as Gandalf's staff," said I, fingering the twin rose petals on his chest. "Oh, Mr Frodo, what has come over me?"

"A frightfully wonderful thing," Mr Frodo concluded, manoeuvring my head like a skilled driver with a favourite pony. And indeed he slipped in and out of my mouth so easily that it seemed I was born for the task. He enveloped me in such a torrent of heaves and grateful compliments, that I thought it was the best I'd ever done in my life, better than seeding, or fertilising. I harvested Mr Frodo's pleasure and derived great enjoyment in the making of this thing and when he whispered a word that sounded like 'love', it was my undoing.

"Out of this room!" demanded I to Merry and Strider. "This is a private moment."

Merry scrambled off the bed, a bruise already forming on his chest where I pushed him a little too vigorously before, but he didn't seem all that upset. "I say this was a long time coming." He winked at Frodo and went over to collect Strider. "Well, enjoy yourselves, and Frodo, I must say you _are_ as clever as Bilbo gave you credit for. Who knew a chase and a night at The Prancing Pony would sort out poor Sam's unsubtle mind?"

Strider seemed less willing to move. He was staring at the bed slack jawed and sort of stroking himself through his clothes.

"Lawks, Man! You're obsessed with us, aren't you?" Merry slapped his hand away, laughing a high pitched giggle. "But you are rather strapping, so why don't you come down stairs with me and I'll show you a neat trick or two?"

That, and the hand placed firmly on his ass, got Strider's attention. With a last longing look in our direction, Strider left with Merry.

"And now, good Mr Frodo . . . " I caressed the blooming cheeks of my employee. "Let us be . . ." I blushed at a loss for a word to describe the act.

"Unnatural?" asked Mr Frodo with a worried expression on his face. "Perhaps this is too much for you, my dear Sam."

"No, Frodo, this is as natural as eating a meal." I slathered his organ again, leaving it gleaming with my saliva. "And tastier."

"My dearest, dearest Sam, for all your reluctance to leave the Shire, you've always had more courage than you claim." Mr Frodo laughed and kissed me. And kept kissing me, until the end of time.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Barkeep, I would like a PINT." Pippin gestured frantically, pointing to the large mug held in a pair of armoured hands beside him. "As big as his!"

"A pint as big as these nine gentlemen, coming up."

"Nine?" Pippin swallowed and looked around. He was surrounded by the Ring-wraiths.

"Bagginssss," hissed the one nearest to him. "Frooooodo!"

"You know, fellas . . . " Pippin grinned. " . . . as good as a Cockring of Power is, a Hobbit in his tweens is just as rabid and long lasting."

"Truuuue?" nine dark hoods turned to regard him with interest. "Demonssssssssstrate! Sssssssshow!"

And thus was business concluded at The Prancing Pony that night, and indeed, when " . . . the round Moon rolled behind the hill, as the Sun raised up her head. She hardly believed her fiery eyes; for though it was day, to her surprise, they all went back to bed!"