The Genre Challenge - Tale of the Gamgii
Title: Tale of the Gamgii
Author: Aussiepeach
Pairing: F/S
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1730
Summary: When honoured Frodo meets honoured Sam, they take a martial-arts style path to enlightenment. (My genre was wuxia, my prompts: Peasant, staff, raffish, fan, robe.)
Frodo Bagginzi knelt at the Bagendo shrine, eyeing the raffish peasant who stood outside the temple.
The lad was fair in his own way, with impressive muscles, a determined jaw, and wisdom beyond youth in his green-hazel eyes. But he was dressed poorly, with a straw rope about his waist. This was the attire of a beggar, not a master.
Why would this hobbit seek him out on the first of May? As was customary, Frodo had risen at dawn, bathed, and composed a poem on plum-blossom. Then he had come to the shrine to meditate. This peasant had cast a ripple in the pond of his routine. There could be one reason, and Frodo sighed inwardly at the thought. He rose with studied dignity, straightened his green robes, and bowed to the stranger.
‘You are Frodo Bagginzi,’ said the peasant, formally. ‘Of the famous family who battle the Lulin on the outskirts of the Shire. Cousin to Bilbo, Trickster of Dragons.’
‘Yes,’ replied Frodo. ‘We fight bandits and outlaws as far as Bree.’
‘After the loss of your honoured parents, you studied with the Trickster all the rituals of Halfling-ka. He who kept a library of miji filled with the knowledge of masters.’
‘I did,’ said Frodo, folding his hands in his green robes.
‘Is it true he made you run across the Shire to follow a feather on the breeze?’
‘Indeed yes,’ said Frodo. ‘That was a story all to itself.’
‘And he made you stand blindfolded while he waved a silk scarf around you, telling you that only a hobbit fully attuned to the ways of Halfling-ka would hear the scarf move on the air.’
‘It took some years, but I learned,’ said Frodo. ‘What would you ask of me? Do you require my services to fight Lulin?’
The peasant seemed to gather all his courage.
‘I would duel with you, noble Frodo. I have heard tales of your beauty and your skill. If you are as skilled as you are beautiful, then you will be matchless. But I fear two such virtues cannot exist in one.’
‘A thousand virtues may exist in one,’ replied Frodo, quoting the Scrolls of Elrond Halfelven the Enlightened. ‘For our minds create limits in what is limitless.’
‘Yet is it is not through the discipline of Halfling-ka that we impose limits on our baser selves?’ replied the stranger. ‘Only then can one attain perfection.’
Frodo’s left eyebrow rose at this. ‘You speak well,’ he said at last. ‘I have not heard the Book of Old Took quoted in this Shire since my uncle left this land.’
The stranger bowed.
‘But I do not duel with beggars,’ said Frodo.
‘I am no beggar, sir.’ The stranger drew a fan from the sleeve of his robe.
Frodo had to school his features to hide his shock. ‘That is a Dwarvish Mithril-Fan of the Dwarrowdelf Empire!’
The stranger flicked the deadly fan open expertly. Spring sunlight glinted on the razor-sharp edges.
‘I’m full of surprises,’ he said.
‘But can you wield it?’
The peasant lifted his chin. ‘I have studied for years to be worthy of standing in your presence. In the orchards and gardens of this Shire I have meditated. I have worked with the finest, most ancient trees in the Shire so I may know of humility, of the patience of plants and the strength of my hands. It has been my dream and my destiny to challenge you to combat. Will you duel with me?’
‘I will,’ said Frodo, and drew the sword Sting from his back sheath. This blade was famous throughout the Shire. It glowed blue in the presence of Lulin. Elvish script flowed upon its steel. Epic poems had been written on its magnificence.
The stranger’s eyes shone. ‘A beautiful weapon in the hands of one even more beautiful,’ he breathed.
There were some who said Frodo’s beauty was his greatest weapon, his distraction of the enemy in battle. So enamoured they became, that their sword-hands were stayed, and they gladly let Frodo defeat them. Tales were told also that the first to defeat Frodo in battle would be his heart’s desire.
Frodo had never believed those tales. But his heart quickened strangely when he saw Samasen plant his feet firmly apart, braced for battle. He smiled in the pure pleasure of anticipation.
‘I will say first I repent of calling you beggar,’ said Frodo. ‘Secondly, if we are to duel, may I have the honour of knowing your name?’
The stranger smiled. ‘I am Samasen Gamgii, of the Third Door of the Row.’
Frodo leapt into the air. He seemed to hover, a phenomenon known as the Beren Leap. Samasen leapt to meet him, and blade struck blade with equal force. They both somersaulted backwards, landing lightly on their feet, hands in combat position.
Frodo sheathed Sting. With one hand he executed the ‘Hobbit Eating a Stuffed Mushroom’ move, with the other the ‘Dance of the Itchy Foot before the Locked Privy’. He lunged. Samasen swivelled backwards to avoid the blow, twisted five times in midair, and met him with an amazing Frying Pan Soars in Summer Air kick.
They fell apart. Frodo ran up against the wall of the shrine, and soared over Samasen’s head. Samasen’s robes swished as he threw his fan. Frodo drew Sting before his feet touched the ground, sliced the air, and sent the fan whirling back towards its master. Samasen had to do a triple back flip to avoid it.
Running to the nearest pond, Frodo executed Lothiriel’s Sprint Across Open Water. Samasen gritted his teeth and followed with a Spider-Killer spin, shifting into the Slicing of Fifty Taters combination. His fan danced thirty feet in the air, twirling to land neatly and safely in Samasen’s outstretched hand.
‘You use the methods of the Seven Elvish Swords Manual,’ said Frodo in amazement. ‘He who perfects that is said to be invincible!’
‘I trained in the Gamgii method of the Ninihama,’ said Samasen proudly.
‘How can that be? The Ninihama do not teach the Slender Fox Dances in the Moonlight seizing technique.’
‘Now you understand why I am known among my peers as Hope Beyond Endurance.’
‘I am known as Endurance Beyond Hope,’ replied Frodo, and again they set to combat. Sparks flew from their blades, like lightning in two storms. So swiftly they fought, the ‘chiiiing’ of their blades was like rain.
They battled by the light of a full moon, by the bright day, and in long spring twilight. They battled on rooftops, treetops, and corn fields. Frodo had the silvery strength of stars and water, while Samasen was the essence of earth and fire. Never had Frodo encountered such an opponent. While the sturdy Samasen could not match him for economy and grace, he more than made up for it with power and skill. Their styles of fighting were different, but they complemented each other as the sun does the moon. Three nights and one thousand moves later, Frodo lowered his famous sword. The battle was a draw. Both combatants were exhausted.
‘I have never met your equal in internal strength, Samasen Gamgii. You have fire in your heart to match the heats of Mount Doom.’
‘I would say the same of you,’ gasped Samasen. ‘You are like poetry in flight. As exquisite as a rose petal. I did not believe it at first, but you are more beautiful than even the songs by the minstrels of Lorilome.’
Frodo bowed his head modestly. ‘I am acknowledged in several books by the great Gildor Inglorion.’
Samasen quoted softly. ‘“His eyebrows are like pen strokes on the finest scroll. His eyes like clear water reflecting the sky”.’
Frodo suddenly yearned to seize Samasen in the intimate Purring Kitten hold.
This hobbit had so far demonstrated his knowledge, his skill in combat, and his love of poetry - all requirements for a master of Halfling-ka. On top of which, he was most pleasing to the eye. He was the warrior of Frodo’s dreams.
Yet Frodo still resisted. ‘Did you fight me to prove yourself more than a peasant? Did you challenge me only to test your strength? Or do you speak from the channels of the heart?’
Samasen took Frodo’s hand.
‘Do you think I see only your beauty? I see it full well, but stronger still is your spirit. For you, I would walk on my knees to the Black Gates of Mordor. For you I would share the pleasures of love as written in the Arda Sutra, were it solely to write your name on the wind for a thousand years.’
Frodo was deeply moved. This was the lover his heart craved. He suddenly pictured long nights of passion, riding the road of desire, to reach the temple of delights.
‘But I am a vessel of love only if you have enough to fill me to overflowing. Otherwise, under the fire of duress, your love may melt like snow on the mountaintop.’
‘I have love enough in me to overflow a thousand vessels, and renew the Sea itself,’ said Samasen.
‘Will you live with me in Bagendo, and fight Lulin with me in the arts of Halfling-ka?’ Frodo asked tenderly. ‘We can train together with Gandalf Grayhame, and his Staff of Fire.’
‘Begging your pardon, sir, but I’d rather train with yours,’ said Samasen.
Frodo took a deep breath. Then he unsheathed Sting, the two knives strapped to his thighs, the silver blade that acted as a decoration in his topknot, and the tiny folding blade that tucked into his sash. He held out his hands.
‘I am unarmed and defenceless. If you come to me I will yield to you, and call you my beloved.’
Samasen gasped. ‘Me dear, I would spend an eternity combing your foothair for the pleasure of - sorry, lost my train of thought there.’
‘But are you not tired, after our combat? Three days of continuous battle?’
Samasen stepped closer. ‘Sir, I would gladly spend another week in a very different kind of battle, if you understand me.’ He reached out and touched Frodo in a way that made him shiver all over, and groan.
‘How did you - can you do that again?’
‘Oh, that was just one pressure point from the Arda Sutra. There’s thousands more where that came from,’ Samasen said, and bent Frodo into a ten pressure-point kiss.
Author: Aussiepeach
Pairing: F/S
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1730
Summary: When honoured Frodo meets honoured Sam, they take a martial-arts style path to enlightenment. (My genre was wuxia, my prompts: Peasant, staff, raffish, fan, robe.)
Frodo Bagginzi knelt at the Bagendo shrine, eyeing the raffish peasant who stood outside the temple.
The lad was fair in his own way, with impressive muscles, a determined jaw, and wisdom beyond youth in his green-hazel eyes. But he was dressed poorly, with a straw rope about his waist. This was the attire of a beggar, not a master.
Why would this hobbit seek him out on the first of May? As was customary, Frodo had risen at dawn, bathed, and composed a poem on plum-blossom. Then he had come to the shrine to meditate. This peasant had cast a ripple in the pond of his routine. There could be one reason, and Frodo sighed inwardly at the thought. He rose with studied dignity, straightened his green robes, and bowed to the stranger.
‘You are Frodo Bagginzi,’ said the peasant, formally. ‘Of the famous family who battle the Lulin on the outskirts of the Shire. Cousin to Bilbo, Trickster of Dragons.’
‘Yes,’ replied Frodo. ‘We fight bandits and outlaws as far as Bree.’
‘After the loss of your honoured parents, you studied with the Trickster all the rituals of Halfling-ka. He who kept a library of miji filled with the knowledge of masters.’
‘I did,’ said Frodo, folding his hands in his green robes.
‘Is it true he made you run across the Shire to follow a feather on the breeze?’
‘Indeed yes,’ said Frodo. ‘That was a story all to itself.’
‘And he made you stand blindfolded while he waved a silk scarf around you, telling you that only a hobbit fully attuned to the ways of Halfling-ka would hear the scarf move on the air.’
‘It took some years, but I learned,’ said Frodo. ‘What would you ask of me? Do you require my services to fight Lulin?’
The peasant seemed to gather all his courage.
‘I would duel with you, noble Frodo. I have heard tales of your beauty and your skill. If you are as skilled as you are beautiful, then you will be matchless. But I fear two such virtues cannot exist in one.’
‘A thousand virtues may exist in one,’ replied Frodo, quoting the Scrolls of Elrond Halfelven the Enlightened. ‘For our minds create limits in what is limitless.’
‘Yet is it is not through the discipline of Halfling-ka that we impose limits on our baser selves?’ replied the stranger. ‘Only then can one attain perfection.’
Frodo’s left eyebrow rose at this. ‘You speak well,’ he said at last. ‘I have not heard the Book of Old Took quoted in this Shire since my uncle left this land.’
The stranger bowed.
‘But I do not duel with beggars,’ said Frodo.
‘I am no beggar, sir.’ The stranger drew a fan from the sleeve of his robe.
Frodo had to school his features to hide his shock. ‘That is a Dwarvish Mithril-Fan of the Dwarrowdelf Empire!’
The stranger flicked the deadly fan open expertly. Spring sunlight glinted on the razor-sharp edges.
‘I’m full of surprises,’ he said.
‘But can you wield it?’
The peasant lifted his chin. ‘I have studied for years to be worthy of standing in your presence. In the orchards and gardens of this Shire I have meditated. I have worked with the finest, most ancient trees in the Shire so I may know of humility, of the patience of plants and the strength of my hands. It has been my dream and my destiny to challenge you to combat. Will you duel with me?’
‘I will,’ said Frodo, and drew the sword Sting from his back sheath. This blade was famous throughout the Shire. It glowed blue in the presence of Lulin. Elvish script flowed upon its steel. Epic poems had been written on its magnificence.
The stranger’s eyes shone. ‘A beautiful weapon in the hands of one even more beautiful,’ he breathed.
There were some who said Frodo’s beauty was his greatest weapon, his distraction of the enemy in battle. So enamoured they became, that their sword-hands were stayed, and they gladly let Frodo defeat them. Tales were told also that the first to defeat Frodo in battle would be his heart’s desire.
Frodo had never believed those tales. But his heart quickened strangely when he saw Samasen plant his feet firmly apart, braced for battle. He smiled in the pure pleasure of anticipation.
‘I will say first I repent of calling you beggar,’ said Frodo. ‘Secondly, if we are to duel, may I have the honour of knowing your name?’
The stranger smiled. ‘I am Samasen Gamgii, of the Third Door of the Row.’
Frodo leapt into the air. He seemed to hover, a phenomenon known as the Beren Leap. Samasen leapt to meet him, and blade struck blade with equal force. They both somersaulted backwards, landing lightly on their feet, hands in combat position.
Frodo sheathed Sting. With one hand he executed the ‘Hobbit Eating a Stuffed Mushroom’ move, with the other the ‘Dance of the Itchy Foot before the Locked Privy’. He lunged. Samasen swivelled backwards to avoid the blow, twisted five times in midair, and met him with an amazing Frying Pan Soars in Summer Air kick.
They fell apart. Frodo ran up against the wall of the shrine, and soared over Samasen’s head. Samasen’s robes swished as he threw his fan. Frodo drew Sting before his feet touched the ground, sliced the air, and sent the fan whirling back towards its master. Samasen had to do a triple back flip to avoid it.
Running to the nearest pond, Frodo executed Lothiriel’s Sprint Across Open Water. Samasen gritted his teeth and followed with a Spider-Killer spin, shifting into the Slicing of Fifty Taters combination. His fan danced thirty feet in the air, twirling to land neatly and safely in Samasen’s outstretched hand.
‘You use the methods of the Seven Elvish Swords Manual,’ said Frodo in amazement. ‘He who perfects that is said to be invincible!’
‘I trained in the Gamgii method of the Ninihama,’ said Samasen proudly.
‘How can that be? The Ninihama do not teach the Slender Fox Dances in the Moonlight seizing technique.’
‘Now you understand why I am known among my peers as Hope Beyond Endurance.’
‘I am known as Endurance Beyond Hope,’ replied Frodo, and again they set to combat. Sparks flew from their blades, like lightning in two storms. So swiftly they fought, the ‘chiiiing’ of their blades was like rain.
They battled by the light of a full moon, by the bright day, and in long spring twilight. They battled on rooftops, treetops, and corn fields. Frodo had the silvery strength of stars and water, while Samasen was the essence of earth and fire. Never had Frodo encountered such an opponent. While the sturdy Samasen could not match him for economy and grace, he more than made up for it with power and skill. Their styles of fighting were different, but they complemented each other as the sun does the moon. Three nights and one thousand moves later, Frodo lowered his famous sword. The battle was a draw. Both combatants were exhausted.
‘I have never met your equal in internal strength, Samasen Gamgii. You have fire in your heart to match the heats of Mount Doom.’
‘I would say the same of you,’ gasped Samasen. ‘You are like poetry in flight. As exquisite as a rose petal. I did not believe it at first, but you are more beautiful than even the songs by the minstrels of Lorilome.’
Frodo bowed his head modestly. ‘I am acknowledged in several books by the great Gildor Inglorion.’
Samasen quoted softly. ‘“His eyebrows are like pen strokes on the finest scroll. His eyes like clear water reflecting the sky”.’
Frodo suddenly yearned to seize Samasen in the intimate Purring Kitten hold.
This hobbit had so far demonstrated his knowledge, his skill in combat, and his love of poetry - all requirements for a master of Halfling-ka. On top of which, he was most pleasing to the eye. He was the warrior of Frodo’s dreams.
Yet Frodo still resisted. ‘Did you fight me to prove yourself more than a peasant? Did you challenge me only to test your strength? Or do you speak from the channels of the heart?’
Samasen took Frodo’s hand.
‘Do you think I see only your beauty? I see it full well, but stronger still is your spirit. For you, I would walk on my knees to the Black Gates of Mordor. For you I would share the pleasures of love as written in the Arda Sutra, were it solely to write your name on the wind for a thousand years.’
Frodo was deeply moved. This was the lover his heart craved. He suddenly pictured long nights of passion, riding the road of desire, to reach the temple of delights.
‘But I am a vessel of love only if you have enough to fill me to overflowing. Otherwise, under the fire of duress, your love may melt like snow on the mountaintop.’
‘I have love enough in me to overflow a thousand vessels, and renew the Sea itself,’ said Samasen.
‘Will you live with me in Bagendo, and fight Lulin with me in the arts of Halfling-ka?’ Frodo asked tenderly. ‘We can train together with Gandalf Grayhame, and his Staff of Fire.’
‘Begging your pardon, sir, but I’d rather train with yours,’ said Samasen.
Frodo took a deep breath. Then he unsheathed Sting, the two knives strapped to his thighs, the silver blade that acted as a decoration in his topknot, and the tiny folding blade that tucked into his sash. He held out his hands.
‘I am unarmed and defenceless. If you come to me I will yield to you, and call you my beloved.’
Samasen gasped. ‘Me dear, I would spend an eternity combing your foothair for the pleasure of - sorry, lost my train of thought there.’
‘But are you not tired, after our combat? Three days of continuous battle?’
Samasen stepped closer. ‘Sir, I would gladly spend another week in a very different kind of battle, if you understand me.’ He reached out and touched Frodo in a way that made him shiver all over, and groan.
‘How did you - can you do that again?’
‘Oh, that was just one pressure point from the Arda Sutra. There’s thousands more where that came from,’ Samasen said, and bent Frodo into a ten pressure-point kiss.