Little Things

LITTLE THINGS: More Than Meets the Eye

by Janet Elizabeth

Dear Bilbo,

It's me Frodo. Though you will never see this journal, I am writing it as if to you because that just feels
right somehow. And I must have someone familar to talk to, though Sam, Pippin and Merry are the
best friends any Hobbit could wish for, but I have something dangerous and delicate to discuss. I can
almost hear your voice and see your face as I would be telling you this, but of course without the shock
and disapproval I would find there. And disapprove you would, despite the fact that you have never
disapproved of anything I've ever done. But then this secret would change all that.

I know that there are some folk in the world who consider cross-species love to be acceptable and I
guess I have some of that in my own background, and I also know that there are those who let males
be with males and the opposite with females as the Elves do, but it is not something too common
amongst Hobbits, neither cross-species or same gender. But there is the crux of my dilemna. I am not
as other Hobbits and have known this for some many years.

In fact I have known since I came of age and attempted to try my hand with the lasses as most newly
majoritied Hobbits do. But my dismal failures with every lass I went with left me empty and crying out
for more. It wasn't until I found myself here in Bree and gazing up into the eyes of a man by the name
of Strider that I knew what it was that I so craved and desired.

Ever since last night when he pulled me up from beneath that table and I gazed into those clear
grey-blue orbs, I have felt a burning inside me that seems unquenchable, except to look upon his face
ever more.

He's a Ranger out of the wilds who I suspect has more about him than meets the eye, much as
Gandalf's letter hinted at. And he is so fey and fair that I am undone by every look he gives me. His
gaze sets a fire within me that I never felt and my loins seek to betray me. His touch is like a
pleasurable pain that even obliterates what the ring is doing to me. I almost cannot bear to be in the
same room with him, but then again I must be as close to him as possible.

Here in the wild things are worse as there is more opportunity for him and I to come in contact and the
morning bathing rituals, which are no more than a splash in the swampy waters of the Midgewater
Marshes, have become a source of great fear and excitment to me. I do not wish to be seen sneaking a
glance at our dour guide. The others would not understand and I have caught Sam giving me queer
glances a time or two as if he knew was I was thinking. I cannot help myself though. Strider is
becoming dear to me, not only for his help and expertise but for these growing feelings I must hide
inside.

Above all this, my dear Uncle Bilbo, is the almost unbearable desire to fling myself into Strider's arms
each night and snuggle against his warmth and safety. I have this secret vision of the two of us, in some
safe haven, curled in each other's arms as he teaches me the ways of love that I am painfully unaware
of. I yearn, no crave, his touch and attention and a part of me is glad that the ring is my burden to bear,
for it ensures that Strider must give me the best part of his thoughts eacy any and night. That may
sound strange and perhaps a madness has come over me, but be that as it may, I cannot deny what my
heart and body want.

But these thoughts must remain thoughts only. If Strider or the other's knew, I could only imagine what
they would say. Their laughter or perhaps their scorn and of course my dear Ranger's rejection would
peirce me to my depths. I cannot imagine a pain greater than this.

I must put this journal away in secret, though I'm sure my faithful Sam knows of its existence, if not it's
content. He would never deem to spy on me and for that I know my secret is safe. But agan, the
moon wanes and we approach Weathertop, where Strider says we may find some clue as to the lights
we saw a few nights ago. I go now, as his eyes are on my again and look askance for my thoughts. I
shiver and say goodnight.

Frodo Baggins

THE END

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