"But Aragorn! You and Elrond PROMISED!"

Frodo glared accusingly at the slightly desperate looking people around him.

"You promised. And now Arwen is here, and she doesn't mind at all!"

"Frodo, you have to understand…"

"I do NOT understand, nor do I want to, thank you very much!" Frodo crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his foot impatiently.

"I am the Ringbearer, Aragorn. You had it written down exactly like that in the Gondor Archives."

"Yes, but…"

"You gave me that title yourself, Lord Elrond."

"Indeed, Master Baggins, however I did not mean…"

"So there, you see? You promised."

"But Mr Frodo, don't you think you are a little…"

"A little what, Sam?"

The gardener-turned-adventurer/hero gave him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Mr Frodo, but you are a bit too old…"

"I don't look a day older than Merri and Pippin!" Frodo cried in protest.

None could deny that it was true, so silence reigned in which Frodo eyed them all triumphantly. Then Aragorn threw up his hands in desperation.

"Frodo, you simply cannot be serious!"

"I assure you I am. This time is going to be much more pleasant than last time – I would very much like to experience what being a Ringbearer truly means."

That softened every face around him, he noticed, and Aragorn submitted.

"Fine," ever the regal king, he picked up a silk pillow and handed it to Frodo.

"You can bear the Rings at our wedding tomorrow."

With a happy smirk, Frodo nearly skipped out of the throne room, leaving the others with the nagging suspicion that they'd been had.