A silly little Birthday mathom from me to all of you!

Tongue-Tied

By: Elemmírë

Summary: Frodo wonders if all the stuff the adults tell him is really true.

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings does not belong to me, nor am I making any profit off either its story or characters.

Frodo is 18 (age 12 in Man years)

Frodo Baggins knew that he was just too curious for his own good. In fact, there were some who would no doubt blame his inherited Tookish blood for this stunt. Others would just simply shake their curly heads, while muttering that this latest incident involving the orphaned Baggins lad went beyond mere curiosity and into the realm of plain stupidity.

Whatever would be said of him, Frodo at that point did not care. He wiggled once more, trying to get free of his current predicament ... and sighed when he realized he was stuck for good. It seemed that there was some truth to some Old Wives' tales after all ....

* * * * *

Ever since he was a faunt, Frodo could remember each Winter at least two or more adults preach this sage wisdom to any young hobbit within earshot. The warning was ingrained into their very being, especially the most wiliest of tweenagers: never stick your tongue to anything metal outside during the freezing cold weather or it would be stuck there for good.

As to how anyone had discovered this in the first place, Frodo had absolutely no idea. Who would be dumb enough to try such a silly thing? As was mentioned before, however, Frodo was a bit more curious than most young hobbits his age and he was not even a tweenager yet. He'd heard tales from his elders of scores of young hobbit lads (and a few of the more daring lasses) test this assumption .... but he'd never seen anyone actually try it.

Surely it was just an Old Wives' tale ... wasn't it?

Making sure no one was around, Frodo took his mittened hands out from the pockets on his woolen breeches. Using his hands to steady himself, he scrabbled up the pile of shoveled snow that had been made when a path to the stables had been cleared after a recent snowstorm. The snow surrounded a tall, wrought iron pole that was used to fly the Brandybuck family crest high overhead during special occasions.

Glancing around again to make sure he was still alone, Frodo gathered up his courage one last time before poking the tip of his little pink tongue from between his lips. Watching his breath billow and freeze in the cold air like dragon fire, the young hobbit tentatively placed the tip of his tongue to the ice-cold pole that rose up from the snow mound before retracting it just as quickly.

Frodo grinned in triumph. He saw the wet mark left he'd left on the metal, but his tongue had not stuck!

Thinking the old wives' tale disproved, Frodo again placed the tip of his tongue against the cold flagpole, this time firmly and with more confidence. His feelings of pride and accomplishment were rapidly depleted when he tried to pull his tongue off the pole again, however.

Large blue eyes widened first in surprise, then in fright as Frodo attempted to "unglue" himself from the wrought iron flagpole. He was stuck fast just as Uncles Rory, Dodi, Rufus, Dino, and all the others had warned would happen!

Frodo let out a squeak of terror. How would he get free? Would he be doomed to remain as such until the Spring thaw? Would he be made the laughing ridicule of Buckland? ... Or worse, would they have to cut his tongue off?

Hearing the approaching voices of some of the stable hands returning from their luncheon, Frodo panicked. Thinking quickly, he removed one mitten in order to free his fingers to brace his tongue. Thrusting his little body back with all of his might, Frodo suddenly felt the pole (or was it his tongue) give way as he fell to his bottom in the snow.

Getting to his feet, Frodo could clearly see the small circle of pink tissue left on the freezing pole where he had been stuck. Tears welled in his eyes as his tongue began to smart terribly and he tasted blood in his mouth. Holding his mittened hand to staunch the flow, Frodo staggered back down the snowy mound ....

* * * * *

It was several weeks later when Auntie Esme was gathering up Frodo's clothes to be laundered when she came across one light blue mitten with an odd-looking stain adorning its rounded end ... a stain that no matter how much it was scrubbed at, never seemed to fade. Frodo had blushed and averted his gaze when asked how his mitten had gotten so.

It was years later when he would finally admit what he'd done and how his curiosity had gotten the better of him. Uncle Bilbo had laughed. "The secret is to go with your spirit, Frodo my lad," he'd said. "After a century, I've learned that in order to make the most of every day, I must take a few chances now and then and put a little excitement and adventure in my life. So, when your curiosity consumes you, go ahead! Lick the frozen flagpole if you must. It may hurt a little," (and here the old hobbit winked) "but what fun you will have later in the telling!"

~The End~

Author's Note: I was about 11 or 12 when I did just what Frodo did in this fic, even though I too knew better. One cold winter day as I played on the snowdrifts created by the snowplows, I was insatiably curious to see if this warning was true or not. I was smart enough not to place the whole of my tongue against the freezing pole of the Stop sign in our front yard, so I placed only the very tip of my tongue against it. Naturally I became stuck, but I was able to "unglue" myself like Frodo did when I heard a car coming up the road. No one was ever the wiser at my childhood antics .... until many years later, but my mother always wondered where the small stain on my mitten came from. Hope you all enjoyed!