Birds, Bees And Brain-washing

Title: Birds, Bees And Brain-washing

Author: Aratlithiel

Summary: Bilbo and Frodo discuss Frodo's choice of reading material.

Category: General/Humor

Rating: PG-13

July 25, 2006

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A/N -- For Budgielover because I *heart* her

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BIRDS, BEES AND BRAIN-WASHING

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"Frodo?"

"… Hm?"

"I say, Frodo."

"Yes, sir?"

"What are you doing there, lad?"

"Er… Just, um… reading, Uncle."

"Well, yes, I can see that you're reading. Which have you got there?"

"It's, uh… you know, just a um… nothing special."

"I can't see the title when you have the book behind your back like that. What are you reading?"

"It's… er… Shall I start on elevenses, Bilbo? You must be getting hungry."

"No, no, not quite yet, I need-- Hoy, come back here!"

"But--"

"No elevenses just yet, Frodo; it's only half past nine, you know."

"… Second breakfast?"

"Come here for a moment, please."

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you. Now, it has been called to my-- Do you need to use the privy, lad?"

"Er… no, sir."

"Then stop dancing about like that. Honestly, you're fidgeting like someone's got your toes to the fire."

"Sorry, sir."

"And stop calling me 'sir'!"

"Sorry, Uncle."

"Thank you. Now, have a seat, will you?"

"I, er… Would you mind if I stand, Uncle?"

"Yes, in fact, I would. I need to sit and I don't fancy a crick in my neck."

"… All right. I'll just, um--"

"Frodo, you know you're allowed to read anything at all from the library, so whatever book it is you're trying to hide--"

"I'm not trying to--"

"I can see it there, behind your left elbow… Now your right elbow, honestly, lad, do stop fidgeting!"

"Sorry, s-- Uncle."

"Now, let me see what you've got there."

"… I'd really rather not."

"Yes, that much I gathered."

"But--"

"Come now, lad, how bad can it be? You've been reading one of the children's volumes and you're embarrassed because you think you're too old?"

"Um…"

"Frodo, how old are you now?"

"Twenty-one, sir. I mean, Uncle."

"Right. And you've lived here how long?"

"Just over two months."

"Yes, and you've known me for years, so you ought to know by now that I encourage reading in all forms and I would never snort at someone for their choice of reading materials."

"…"

"I should hope you'd know that."

"Er…"

"All right, enough now -- give me the book."

*chokes*

"Calm down, lad! You'll give yourself a fit and ruin your clothes."

"Uncle, I'd really rather--"

"And I'd really rather there were no secrets between us, Frodo."

"But I don't think--"

"The book, if you please. There's a good lad, now was that so-- Sweet Mother, where did you find this?"

"You said any book! Any book, that's what you said, any book at all, you said… Are you all right, Uncle?"

"Yes, I'm… Oh, dear."

"Here, let me get you a glass of water--"

"You sit right back down there and don't move!"

"But I was just--"

"Just going to climb out the nearest window and hope I'd forgotten about this by the time you climb back in in the wee-hours."

"…"

"Sit."

"You don't want water, then?"

"No water."

"But you're looking awfully red in the face."

"Sit."

"A cup of tea, perhaps?"

"Sit!"

"Cider! They've a new batch of barrels from Tuckborough at the market; I just saw them yesterday. I'll just nip on down there and get some, shall I? Won't be but a--"

"Sit!"

"… Yes, Uncle."

"And get that scowl off your face, Frodo. If you're going to be reading adult materials, you are going to sit down and talk about it like an adult."

"… T-Talk…? About… About it?"

"Put your head between your knees, lad -- you've gone pale as a sheet."

"No, I'm, uh… I'm fine, just…"

"Frodo, didn't anyone at the Hall ever sit you down to talk about… things?"

"Things?"

"Er… yes -- things."

"What sorts of things, Uncle?"

"Well, the sorts of things in that book!"

"But I didn't get a chance to read the book, Bilbo -- I'd only just opened it when you came in."

"Ah. *cough* Well, then--"

"What sorts of things are in there, Uncle?"

"Well… you know… adult things."

"Adult things? Like how to grow weed and such?"

"If you don't know what's in there, why were you hiding it behind your back?"

"…"

"Uh, huh. That innocent look may work on Esmeralda, but you'd do best to save it for the lasses' mothers; it's wasted on me."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Bilbo."

"Mmm. Frodo, do you know Peony Broadburrow?"

"Peony, Peony… Do you mean the one with the…?"

"Ahem. The arthritis in her hands, yes, quite."

"No, sir, I don't think I know her."

"Right. So then you wouldn't know anything about a dark-haired lad seen escorting Miss Broadburrow behind the mowing shed last Hensday?"

"Er…"

"And you wouldn't know anything about that same lad, seen in a state of semi-undress, fleeing from behind that same mowing shed at the business end of Mister Broadburrow's pitchfork?"

"…"

"I see. And you would then, of course, not know anything at all about the green and gold waistcoat -- much like the one you were wearing last… oh, I think it was last Hensday -- that the lad apparently left behind in his haste?"

"Well, I'm sure there are many green and--"

"And the braces with the initials 'F. B.' stitched on them."

"… *cough* Er…"

"Quite."

"Uncle, it wasn't how it--"

"Please believe me when I tell you that there is nothing I want more than for you not to tell me how it was."

"Bilbo, really, I… Oh? So, you'd rather not hear about--"

"Anything!"

"Not even about how her bodice--"

"Not unless you'd like me to tell you all about the time I caught your Uncle Saradoc and Aunt Esmeralda in a clinch behind the wine kegs at Harvest Festival and how he had his hand--"

"Aaaaauuuugh! StopallrightI'msorry!"

"Or about the time late last year when I met the Widow Smallfoot on the road on my way to Little Delving and we spent a lovely afternoon--"

"Lalalalalalalalala…"

"Ha. Try and best old Bilbo, will you?"

"What?"

"I said-- Here now, get your fingers out of your ears, boy."

"What?"

"Get your fingers out of your ears!"

"I can't. You've put pictures into my brain now and I think they've paralysed me."

"Pictures, eh? Well, I'll admit that there is nothing like the Widow Smallfoot in smallclothes, so I can certainly--"

"ACK!! And now I'm blind! I hope you're very pleased with yourself."

"All right, lad, I think you've learnt your lesson. I will keep the matter of Mrs. Smallfoot to myself, if you will keep the details of your… er, meeting with Miss Peony to yourself."

"May I be excused, please?"

"We're not through here yet, Frodo."

"But I need to go wash my brain!"

"You're not too old to have your mouth washed out, you know."

"… Sorry, Uncle."

"Frodo, didn't Uncle Rory have a talk with you when you started to… er… change?"

"Uncle Rory? Ew! No!"

"Uncle Saradoc?"

"No!"

"Well, what about--"

"If you say 'Aunt Esmeralda', I really will go wash my brain."

"So, no one has talked to you about… things?"

"What 'things' are you talking about, Bilbo?"

"I think we've already established who wins at these games, young hobbit. Shall we go again?"

"… No, sir."

"Right, then. Now, listen, lad, there are certain things you need to know."

"No, no, I really don't."

"Yes, Frodo, I'm afraid you do."

"No, Bilbo, I really don't. I have a terrifying suspicion that I shall never again have need of more intimate knowledge of 'things'. In fact, I rather think I can accurately predict that 'things' will now forevermore bring forth images of Uncle Rory and the Widow Smallfoot and therefore, 'things' will never again have quite the same appeal they did five minutes ago… or the same, er… effect. I do hope you're happy now."

"Yes, well, I think I probably have a bit more faith in a tween's libido than you do. Therefore and thusly, there are 'things' that you do need to know and as your guardian, I intend to make sure you do."

"… Is the adoption final yet?"

"I'm afraid it is."

"…"

"All right, let's begin with the female reproductive system, shall we?"

*whimpers*

"Now, every month, a lass--"

"The door! The door! I heard the bell, the bell is ringing, there's someone at the door, I'llgogetitberightbackdon'twaitforme!"

"Hoy! Frodo, come back here, blasted boy, too bloody fast, I say, needs bricks strapped to his ankles, and a strap taken to his--"

"AAAAAAAAUUUUUUUGH!!"

"Frodo! Frodo-lad, what is it, what's-- Oh! Hullo, there, Mrs. Smallfoot, what an unexpected surprise."

"So I guessed. Was that your new ward answered the door?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. May I, um… ask what the… er, shrieking was about?"

"I'm sure I don't know. All I did was introduce myself when he answered the door and he screamed like a lass then nipped off in a blur down the Hill."

"Ahem. I see. I do apologise, Mrs. Smallfoot."

"He's fast, your lad."

"Mm."

"Knocked over three other lads on his way like they were lawn-bowling pins."

*sigh*

"Strong. Must be the Brandybuck in him."

"Well, there you go."

"Strange boy."

"Quite."

"I say, Mr. Baggins, I do think you're looking a bit peaky."

"No, Mrs. Smallfoot, I'm… just… oh, never mind."

"Difficult morning?"