Disclaimer: All characters are the property of Tolkien. No offence is intended nor profit made.
Rating: PG13
Frodo/Aragorn & Sam (wishful)
Feedback: Always appreciated
Unbeta'd and horribly late. Happy Birthday, Lily!
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“You have my sword,” the Ranger said,
Whether in forest, or mine, or soft feather bed.”
“What did you say?” the brave Hobbit cried,
His heart all aflutter and his eyes open wide.
“Nothing, ‘twas nothing, I was thinking aloud,”
Said Strider, who yearned to melt back into the crowd.
“There’s an Elf Prince here who also wishes to come forth,
Not to mention a hairy and obstinate Dwarf.”
“Thank you Elf, thank you Dwarf, very nice, I am sure,”
Said the Hobbit, bowing respectfully down to the floor.
“Now, Ranger, don’t be bashful, don’t go shy on me now,
You’ve pledged yourself to me and I want to know how.”
“How?” asked the Man, one hand on his hilt.
“Yes, how,” said the Hobbit, his head on a tilt.
The Ranger breathed deeply and rallied his senses,
Then tried to look stern as he mended some fences.
“Well, with courage and fortitude, wherever we’re led,
I’ll fight off the Orcs and tuck you in bed.”
“In bed?” asked the Hobbit, “and leave me alone?
To sleep the long night away all on my own?”
“But I’ll be on guard, just one call away,”
Protested the Ranger, who was ruing the day
That he’d brashly entered Bree, that hotbed of sin,
And sought out the Hobbit who lodged at the inn.
“But maybe a wraith will steal up in the night
And take me away, though I’d put up a fight;
And you would be left, bereft and quite cold
With no Frodo Baggins to have and to hold…”
Said Strider, “You are wise to put that in my head
For now I must always go with you to bed.”
Frodo's jubilation was, however, short-lived,
For his gaze fell on Sam, who was clearly quite miffed.
“Dear Sam, you will always be my best friend,”
Spoke the Ringbearer, soothingly, hurt feelings to mend;
“But Strider is big and Strider is strong
And I’ve heard that his – reach – is terribly long.”
“It aint the length of the reach or its span,
It’s what you do with it and how often,” said Sam.
“Mmm, good point, “ agreed Frodo, nodding his head,
“But Strider would be so good at warming my bed.”
Poor Sam went off, glowering, to check on his pans,
Leaving his master to succumb to the Man’s
Ardour; And harder it was,
But not much sleeping was had, just because.
The first moral of this tale is simple to say,
Namely, that a feisty Hobbit will always get his way;
The second moral is even more vital to tell:
Trianne can’t write poetry, though she usually means well…
The End