"A fine bride you've got, Frodo," Gimli said contentedly, setting his clean plate on the ground beside him with a sigh.

"What?" Frodo looked confused, and Sam shot him a look of alarm.

Boromir grinned. "I think you're insulting his man... er, hobbithood. I agree with you about the stew, but maybe 'mate' would be better than 'bride.'"

"I'd marry him."

"Pippin!"

"Sorry, Merry," the youngest hobbit said unrepentantly, "But he cooks, he sews-- you can hardly see where he mended that hole in my cloak for me-- and in case you've forgotten, he grows the best brambleberries in the Shire. I'd like to see you try that."

"I'd like to see you, Peregrin Took."

Light dawned for the other two hobbits, only to come crashing immediately down into confusion once again. Sam blushed a deep crimson and stared at the ground, while Frodo shot up. "You think that... Sam and I aren't..." he floundered for words, but found none. "We're not," he finished, lamely but emphatically. There was a pause as seven pairs of eyes blinked at him.

"Oh, come now, Frodo," Gandalf said after a few seconds. "You can hardly expect to fool an old wizard. I've known you and Samwise both since you were born, and it didn't take any special art to see the truth. But I think I can say that none in the company condemn you for it."

"Not at all," Legolas put in. "I've composed quite a bit of a song about the two of you, as part of our tale to be sung at Rivendell and in my own home when we return."

"Oh, good," said Aragorn. "A well-written tale is all the better for a good love story."

"Begging your pardon, sirs, but there's no love story. Leastways not of the kind you're thinking of." Sam glanced up at Frodo and immediately looked away, blushing again.

"I would have thought by now at least you'd know you could trust us," Pippin said, reproachfully.

"We do," Frodo protested, "but honestly we're not, Sam and I. We're not... lovers or mates or anything of the kind!"

"You really don't have to hide it," Legolas said, "Though I confess I had not realized until now that you were trying. No elf we meet will think the worse of you for it, and none here would do worse than envy you your good fortune." "Good f... but..." Realizing that further protests were useless, Frodo sank back down onto the bit of log he'd been sharing with Sam. He stared in bewilderment at the faces around the fire, seeing in each expression the clear message that they didn't believe a word he'd said. A moment later it occurred to him to close his mouth, and he shook his head. "It's late. I'm going to bed."

Seven amused smiles appeared as Sam immediately got up and went to fetch his own blankets. Crawling in beside him a few minutes later, Frodo was still musing. "You and I lovers! And they all thought so. I wonder what could have given them that idea." He settled in with a final wriggle, wrapping his arms around Sam's chest and resting his head on the broad (for a hobbit) shoulder.

"I'm sure I've no idea, Mr. Frodo," Sam answered, his free hand coming up to brush through Frodo's dark curls, fingertips massaging away tension with the ease of long practice. There was silence for a few minutes, broken only by soft sighs of pleasure and bits of conversation drifting over from the others as they made their own beds around the banked fire.

"It's a mystery," Frodo said finally, lifting his head for a tender kiss. "Goodnight, Sam."

END