West of the Moon
A Tolkien Fanfiction Archive
25 Stories Bill the Pony Never Wrote About Sam Gamgee
25 improbable vignettes. Warnings for humor, slash, MPREG, incest, het, character death, whacking great knives, cannibalism, OOC, bestiality, karaoke, and all sorts of improbable mayhem.
Author: Bill The Pony
Inspired by Penknife's 25 stories Penknife never wrote about the Marauders.
Written for Rabidsamfan.
- The Demise of OTP
"Merry and I are very much in love, Sam. Will you come to our handfasting?" Frodo looked coyly at his gardener.
"Time will tell, sir," Sam answered stoically. "For one thing, I noticed just this morning we've still got that whacking great knife from off past Bree out in the shed...."
"Yes, but why do you mention it?" Frodo batted his velvety eyelashes in confusion.
"I've got a bit of pruning to do. Shouldn't take long!" Sam went away whistling.
- Whacking Great Knives
"Mr. Brandybuck will be all right, mind you, sir, but he ain't ever goin' to be the same," Widow Rumble told Frodo soberly. "That Gamgee knew his business, and that's a fact."
"I mean he'll be squatting to piss for the rest of his days, beggin' yer pardon."
Frodo choked up, huge glistening tears beginning to slide out of his cerulean eyes. "And we already ordered the wedding cake, too!"
"Frodo love." Merry took his cousin's hand, putting a winning expression on his face. "We'll have to be very strong, but we can get through this. Naturally I'll need constant tending. My bandages will need changing. My stitches will need scrubbing twice a day, and--"
"Merry?" Frodo began timidly. "I don't think I can go through with the handfasting anymore. You see, I loved you for your body, and now it's broken."
"But.... my MIND?" Merry wailed.
"...Could you STOP eyeing the gardener? You aren't even finished breaking up with me yet!"
- Moving On
"Sam, it has not escaped my notice that you have.... a 'whacking great knife' of your own." Frodo fluttered his lashes most becomingly.
"It's a beauty, ain't it, sir?" Sam displayed it for inspection.
"Indeed it is. You will have to oil it carefully and whet it so that it doesn't rust."
"Quite a job with a tool this size, if I do say so myself. You reckon you'd see your way clear to helping me with that?" Sam purred.
"Oh Sam!" Frodo clapped his hands with joy. "I thought you'd never ask!"
On the day Frodo and Pearl Took announced their engagement, Sam Gamgee drowned himself in the well--
"WAIT!" Sam scowled at the author. "I liked the last story arc better."
"Yes, but I already wrote that one."
"I'm going to get my whacking great knife-- the one you DON'T want me to come at you with."
The author sighed. "Very well. I'll let you marry Rosie instead of having you jump down the well."
- More Realistic AUs
Rosie waited more than two months for her husband and Mr. Baggins to come back from gadding about west of the Shire, but when they didn't, she took to staying holed up in Bag End till Sam's money run out. What remained of the Sackville Bagginses come soon after with proof she didn't own the hole, so she took little Elanor and her shame and went off to her cousins in Needlehole.
Rosie was a lively lass and didn't have no end of suitors; she settled on a strapping lad who'd been widowed during the troubles, and they settled down on a bit of farm from his Da.
Things worked well enough until Elanor got near her tweens; she was always a headstrong lass. One fine cold day in March she stole the last memories of her Da-- a bit of crystal glass, a sword, and that Baggins's book-- and set off west to find them.
Rosie told herself she was just as happy not to see none of them again.
- The Ending Tolkien Planned
Sam snatched the Ring from Frodo's finger, ignoring his master's shriek of rage, and as he flung himself--
"Oi!" Sam said.
"...What? I'm kind of busy here." The author paused, irritable.
"Did my Elanor ever make it to the Undying Lands?"
"In that last bit. When she took off."
"Oh! No. She journeyed until she found Gondor and fixed the thread of the story by becoming Arwen's handmaiden."
"Oh. Well, that's all right then." Sam strolled away nonchalantly.
"Where do you think you're going?" The author yelled. "We're in the middle of a story here!"
"I know how this one ends, and beggin' your pardon, I want no part of it. I'm just off to have a bit of a shag with Frodo in the Gardens of Yavanna."
"...oh. Well, watch out for her daisies. You know how she hates it when you two get to rolling around, and mash them flat."
"Aye, we'll be watchin'."
"Mr. Frodo?" Sam dug his toe into the plush carpeting of Frodo's study.
"Me and my Rosie, we thought it'd be an honor if you'd do us the favor of joining us in," Sam blushed becomingly, "our marriage bed. She fancies the both of us at once, seemingly, and I've got to admit, it's been a dear and earnest wish of mine to bend you over and make you squeal my name ever since I was a lad, too."
"Samwise!" Frodo exclaimed, his heart going out to his best of friends. "I would love to-- only, you see, women in general (and Rosie in particular, I'm afraid) make me gag."
"Oh." Sam frowned. "Well, that *is* a problem, ain't it, seeing as how I've gone and married Rosie, figuring on you joining us and all."
"I'll say." Frodo sighed. "You might have thought of mentioning this plan to me before you went and got married."
"Well, mayhap I should, at that." Sam stepped next to Frodo, forlorn. "What's that bit of paper in your hand?"
"Just a brochure for a gay singles cruise. Nothing at all for you to worry about, really. I wasn't thinking of buying a ticket." Frodo glanced shiftily away.
- Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit AU: Creative Solutions to Puzzling Problems
Sam found a wide flat rock and pulled his whacking great knife out of his pack and got to work skinning the fresh meat for the pot. There was a bit more of it than he expected, but that was all to the good. He chopped it up proper and put it in, muttering about herbs and onions and taters and stock, but there weren't none of those to hand, and he had to fetch his own water, too. Still, Sam was a resourceful hobbit, and he got back all right-- and with a handful of herbs to pay for his troubles.
It was just about ready when Frodo woke up.
"You should have been resting, Sam," he said. "And lighting a fire was dangerous in these parts. But I do feel hungry. Hmm! Can I smell it from here? What have you stewed?"
"A present from Sméagol," said Sam. "Though I fancy he's regretting it now."
Frodo took his share and ate with great enjoyment. "Speaking of Smeagol," he said suddenly, "Where is he?"
"I expect he's somewhere close," said Sam, relishing the last bite of the stew.
- Ridding Yourself of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
Mr. Frodo was a bit depressed when they got back to the Shire, but after he went through Jolly Cotton's "Twelve Steps to Recovering from Possession by Evil Magical Artifacts" program, he perked right up again and took an interest in things.
"But Mr. Frodo!" Sam bleated, upon finding him out grubbing in the garden one day. "What'll my job be, if you take care of your own taters?"
Frodo got up, knuckling the small of his back, and glared at him sternly. "Sam, you KNOW it takes two to be codependent. Stop enabling me!"
"Traveling through the Wild is really rather boring, isn't it," Frodo sighed, stubbing his toe on the umpteenth rock of the day.
"It is that." Sam shook his head. "I wish I could have brought my Gameboy."
"Tsk." Frodo shook his head. "You know why Gandalf made you leave it at Rivendell."
"It ain't my fault Mr. Pippin don't know what's mine." Sam scowled and fingered his whacking great knife. Frodo watched him for a time.
"That gives me an idea for something to do," Frodo said at length.
"I'll tell you when we camp for the night." Frodo fluttered his lashes.
Sam scowled to himself; he knew he shouldn't ought to have left his KY behind.
- Peter Jackson
"Go home!" Frodo told Sam harshly, and Sam's face crumpled as he slumped against the rocks to cry.
Frodo went on, and presently Sam got up and headed back down the stair.
"What the fuck are you doing?!" screamed the author. "You'd never leave him!"
"I ain't leaving him," Sam snapped. "I'm just going to go take my whacking great knife to the director before I head on and catch Mr. Frodo up. It's about time we had another stew."
- The Ways of Men
"Sam, I can't sleep," Frodo muttered, a whisper so low a bat couldn't have heard it.
"It's no wonder, with those bloody noisy men going at it over there." Sam jerked his head disdainfully at the single thrashing mound of blankets that was Aragorn and Boromir.
"Still, one has to admit they've got whacking great knives," Frodo said wistfully.
"Aye. One does, at that." Sam sighed. "Mayhap the rapturous squealing will scare the Black Riders away, at any rate."
"Which one of them do you think it is, anyhow?"
"That's Pippin. He joined the fray half an hour ago."
"Oh, dear." Frodo shook his head. "However is Gandalf managing to sleep?"
"A silencing charm. He said he learned it from Albus the Striped."
- The Best Thing about Gondor
The best thing about Gondor, Sam reflected, was the wide soft beds, big enough to fit half a dozen hobbits bent on wildly thrashing carnal relations. Mr. Frodo's relations, to be precise.
....Maybe that wasn't the best thing about Gondor, after all.
- Pony Play
It was an unpleasant surprise at best when Sam found Elanor and Goldilocks out in the stables, rather too preoccupied with Bill.
"It comes of hanging about with Elves and Men and all them foreign ruffian friends of yours," Rosie told him. "You can't expect them to learn decent ways."
"Aye, but with the pony?" Sam shook his head in disbelief.
"Aye, well, when it comes to that, I've had many a girlish lark, meself."
"Aye, but with the PONY?" Sam yelped.
"Well, I had to get ready for your whacking great knife SOMEHOW."
- The One
"That Elrond don't act right," Sam scowled as he paced back and forth next to Frodo's sickbed in Rivendell. "There's something funny about him, begging your pardon. I reckon he's not a proper Elf at all."
"I hadn't noticed." Frodo reached out on to the dresser. "It looks like Gandalf left me two pills to take this time," he exclaimed, surprised. "Should I take the red one or the blue one, do you think?"
- A Cautionary Tale about the Unexpected Consequences of Buttsex
"Mr. Frodo," Sam commented one day, "I think you're losing your girlish figure, but that don't mean I don't want to keep shagging you senseless. It just means I'm feeding you too many cookies, I guess. Here, have a cookie."
"....Help me up, Sam." Frodo said presently. "I think I have to go toss this cookie."
"No problem, sir. I wonder what all this means."
"It must mean something. Just listen to the ominous crashing chords in the soundtrack."
"Aye. It must, at that! All done?"
"Yes, I've finished throwing up. Now go get me some pickles and ice cream and a copy of Us magazine. Oh, and a midwife; I think I just had a contraction."
"Right away, sir. Golly, I just can't figure this one out."
- Modern Technology
"What's all this, then?" Sam boggled at the monstrous contraption on the lawn.
"It's your birthday present, Sam." Frodo beamed at him. "Strider-- er, the King Elessar-- says it comes from Valinor, where the Valar use it in their very own gardens. It's called a 'combine' in High Elven speech, but in the Sindarin tongue, it's called a 'tractor.'"
"OH HAPPY DAY!"
- This Goonie's Good Enough for Me
"Mr. Frodo," Sam snuggled into the overstuffed armchair with his master. "I'd love it if you'd read to me the story of Master Mikey and the treasure map and One-Eyed Willie the pirate."
"You always did like that one," Frodo laughed, and opened the book.
"Oh, Sam!" Frodo wailed, sobbing. "My new waistcoat doesn't fit, and Merry was cross with me this morning, and did I mention I'm an orphan? WELLADAY!" He flung himself over an armoire to weep copiously, shattering his right femur and commencing a spontaneous nosebleed in the process.
"I'm thinking Middle Earth is in trouble," Sam muttered as he went to fetch the Widow Rumble.
"I'm glad you're here with me, Samwise Gamgee. Here at the end of all things!" Frodo held Sam to his breast, his heart filled with love. Sam wasn't listening. In fact, he was blathering. Frodo paused to listen.
"Rosie Cotton dancin', with ribbons in 'er 'air! If ever I'd 'ave got married, it'd 'ave been 'er!"
Frodo let Sam go, got up with great dignity, walked to the edge of the rock, and threw himself into the river of lava.
- When Muses Kibbitz
"I didn't like that story," Frodo complained to the author. "Can't we have another one about Sam's whacking great knives, instead?"
"Only if we can use the one that isn't attached to him to whack off Rosie's head," the author answered swiftly.
"That's a deal."
"What IS it with all the Frodo/Merry?" Frodo complained one day. "It seems less than likely in either movie OR book canon. There must be some other reason for it all...."
Sam's heart sang with joy. "I've been waiting for you to ask me that," he said softly. "Here, let me help you take off that dreadful metal hat."
"I didn't know elves wore pink lacy knickers," Sam mused, blinking with astonishment. "Or that dwarves knew how to remove them without using their hands, neither."
"I'm blind," Frodo announced flatly, pondering whether he might obtain relief by crushing his own skull under a boulder.
"Just wait till they play the drinking game in the last movie," Aragorn warned them, rolling his eyes in a longsuffering sort of way.
- Air Supply
"I can WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIT FOREVAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH, if it MEAAAAAAAANS you'll BE THERE, TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO....."
"So whose bright idea was it to set up a karaoke machine in the gardens of Lorien?" Olorin snarled to Nienna after the fifteenth rendition.
"That would be Mandos," she sighed. "He didn't realize Iorhael would like it so much."
"That son-of-a-bitch." Olorin took a swig of his beer, wishing for something rather stronger.
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