Poetic license and all that jazz

“The Prince’s Bribe. By S. Morginson. Chapter 1.”

Frodo was raised in a large hole in the country area known as the Shire. His favorite past times were smoking his pipe and tormenting the gardener boy who worked there. His name was Samwise, but he never called him that…

(Frodo hautily stomps up to Sam carrying a large smoking pipe while Sam is slaving away cutting wood.)
“Weed-boy, pollish my uncle’s smoke-pipe. I want to see my face shining in it by morning.”

(Sam pauses in his chopping to look up at Frodo with adoring eyes)
“As you wish.”

As you wish was all Sam ever said to him.

Frodo realised that when Sam said it what he was really saying was; “I love you.”
This made Frodo cringe and twitch and want to wack him over the head with a frying pan.

That was until the day he discovered that when the light was just right and Sam was standing an a surtain pose he actually looked… quite jumpable… and that he truly loved Sam back.

(Frodo is in the kitchen washing his smoking weed when Sam enters dumping an arm full or wood. Frodo looks around desperatly for any reason to delay Sam’s leaving.)

“Weed- boy!”

(Sam turns with a “You rang?” expression. Frodo tilts his head to point out the clay jug above his head, well withing his reach)

“Fetch me that pitcher?”
(Sam approaches slowly, almost stalking towards Frodo, hunger evident in his eyes. He reaches past Frodo to unhook the object while leaning in close, close… closer…)

“As you wish…” (He whispers against Frodo’s lips)

(Dramatic music ephisise the passionate silhouette of two Hobbits sitting on a hill top as the sun sets behind them, while they engage in a thorough snog,)