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Fan Fiction Friday: Frodo and Aragorn in “The Scientific Method”


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?I regret to inform you that there is no sex in today’s FFF. Hopefully, by now you know what that means…

Frodo trailed Aragorn reluctantly into the examination room, the papery
gown that was all that stood between the Hobbit and complete nudity
flapping around his legs and making him feel quite as if he were wearing
a dress. There were no ties to hold the flimsy garment shut over his
swollen belly; Frodo had both hands fisted in the material in an attempt
to preserve his modesty. Not, he thought dismally, that it would
matter in a few moments when the examination commenced.

As if reading his thoughts, Aragorn proffered the nervous Hobbit an
encouraging smile as he patted the table that stood in the center of the
room. Frodo eyed it dubiously, taking in its length–far too large in
his opinion–and the fixtures that stuck out at either side, the purpose
of which Frodo could not fathom.

“Must I?” he queried, feeling suddenly very uneasy about the whole thing.

Aragorn laughed and nodded, reaching down to assist the unenthusiastic
Hobbit up the step and onto the table. “I must inspect you thoroughly,
Master Baggins. Especially,” he added with a slight tone of
disapproval, “as you waited so long to come to me.”

“But I did not think it was possible,” Frodo protested, blue eyes
dropping to his distended belly. “It was not supposed to be possible.”

…it means you will wish — and cry and beg — that there’s something as simple as cartoon characters raping each other going on in this story. Form a fellowship and hit the jump of Moria, won’t you?

“Possible or not, it has happened.” As he spoke, Aragorn gently took
hold of Frodo’s left wrist, thumb pressing over the pulse point there.
Frodo kept still and silent, perceiving that Aragorn was making some
mental observations. A few more minutes were spent in relative silence
as Aragorn checked Frodo’s eyes, ears, throat, heart, and lungs,
punctuated only by a soft word from the King or an answer from Frodo to
some question Aragorn posed. It wasn’t until Aragorn truly began the
intimate part of the examination that things began steadily to go
downhill.

Things went downhill the minute we started reading this story. Hell, things started going downhill the minute I started running FFF two and a half years ago. Although the liquor industry has certainly benefited.

“Now, lie back, please, and open your legs.” Aragorn’s voice was stern,
but as always, very kind. He knew that his patient was nervous in
spite of the trust he placed in the King of Gondor and the medical
technology the White City possessed.

Maybe Frodo’s having trust issues because a greasy ranger is trying to look at his junk instead of an actual doctor, Aragorn..

“What?” Frodo said blankly, feeling utterly scandalized at the prospect. “Why?”

“So that I may examine you,” the King answered, as if it were the most
normal thing in the world to be saying such a thing to a Hobbit–a male
Hobbit at that. “I must perform an internal as well as external exam,
Frodo. I assure you,” he added when he saw the other’s dubious
expression, “it is a quite normal procedure. Every pregnant woman must
go through this exact sort of exam.”

“And despite the fact you’re not a woman and I’m not really a doctor, I see no reason not to follow normal procedure.”

Frodo looked even more unhappy at this pronouncement, but he did lie
back, however unwillingly. Gently, Aragorn guided his legs up and
apart, placing each foot in one of the contraptions attached to either
side of the table. Frodo felt as if he had been laid utterly bare now;
with his thighs spread like this not even the over-sized gown could
protect his modesty. Aragorn, however, seemed unfazed.

Ladies, I’ve never had a gynecological exam for obvious reasons — mainly my penis — but are the examination chairs so adjustable they can fit regular people and, say, dwarves? Or does Aragorn have a Hobbit-sized gynecological exam chair just hanging out in Gondor? Because that would be incredibly fucked up.

“Now move down until your bottom rests upon the very edge of the table,”
Aragorn instructed calmly. When Frodo did not seem inclined to comply,
he repeated himself in a no-nonsense way that had the Hobbit
acquiescing and wiggling his way down the table, thoroughly discontent
with the entire situation.

“You now must open your legs for me, making sure your knees are as far apart as possible.”

I don’t know why Frodo’s so freaked out, actually. It’s not like he hasn’t had people in his Hobbit-hole before.

If Frodo had thought himself embarrassed before, it was nothing to the
heat Aragorn’s words inspired. He would be completely exposing himself
to this man who, however trusted and admired, was not a fellow Hobbit.
And even worse at this time–a male. Somehow, that made the situation ten
times worse in Frodo’s eyes.

Yeah, because the fact that a dude is EXAMINING HIS BRAND-NEW HOBBIT VAGINA is the real problem here.

And then, too, was the unpleasant realization that such exposure would
mean Aragorn noticing the heavy amounts of discharge down there–so
embarrassing in that moment that the Hobbit could hardly stand it . . .

“You’ll have my bow!” yelled Legolas.
“And my axe!” shouted Gimli.
“And my vaginal discharge!” said Frodo quietly.

After a long pause during which Aragorn seemed to have an infinite
amount of patience, Frodo yielded – at least in his view. He did, after
all, let his legs fall open. The catch to this was, of course, that it
was to an extent that Frodo considered proper, but which was
insufficient for Aragorn’s examination.

“You will have to spread your legs further than that, Frodo.” The King’s
voice, while gentle as always, was firm and just the tiniest bit
reproving. The Hobbit looked utterly mutinous as Aragorn forged on in
that same gentle voice, “Drop your knees as far as you possibly can.
Once you have done this, I will fold your gown up above your hips and
begin the examination.”

OH MY GOD WE HAVEN’T EVEN STARTED YET

With the same reluctance that had pervaded this entire exchange thus
far, Frodo complied with Aragorn’s wishes. The position he found
himself in was far from comfortable. The devices on either side of the
table ensured that his legs remained spread, and his gown had been
gently pushed aside to leave his private parts utterly exposed. He
found neither the cool air that now brushed over his genitals nor the
feeling that he was stretched wide and utterly open to Aragorn in any way enjoyable.

The scrape of wood on stone drew Frodo’s attention to Aragorn, who was
pulling a stool over to him. To his seemingly endless embarrassment,
and somewhat mounting horror, the stool came to a rest directly between
his spread legs. A place that, Frodo assumed, would give Aragorn an
excellent view of all that he had laid open to examination in the last
several moments.

“That’s weird,” said Aragorn. “There are words in Elvish written above your vagina. ‘Pedo mellon a minno‘ — ‘Speak, friend, and enter.'”

Frodo’s mortification soared to new heights in that moment. Aragorn had
warned him, yes, but he had not quite comprehended the full meaning
until now. Had not quite understood that an external exam involved
being looked at and touched in places only the hands of his lover and
himself had explored before. And speaking of hands, he perceived with a
start just how large Aragorn’s were. This, Frodo realized as Aragorn
began to speak, would be very uncomfortable indeed.

“Once I have washed my hands thoroughly, I will coat them in a substance
that should make things a little less uncomfortable for you as I
examine you.”

“That substance is, of course, Cheez whiz. Standard medical procedure.”

“Though it will feel a little cold at first.” As he spoke,
Aragorn suited actions to words, coming to sit upon the stool when he
was finished. “I will take a quick look at you on the outside, and then
insert two fingers into your vaginal opening, so that I may get an idea
of how things are going. I will also examine your vaginal discharge
for signs of abnormalities or infection. Do you understand?”

At what point in his ranger career did Aragorn learn about what is and what isn’t normal vaginal discharge? I have the disquieting sense he practiced on squirrels and things.

Feeling horribly abused and cringing inwardly at each repetition, so
bluntly administered, of terms that were far too anatomically correct
for his taste, Frodo nodded in affirmation, feeling his body tense
slightly in reaction to the thought of those man-sized fingers entering
him. Wood scraped on stone again as Aragorn moved far, far too close,
making Frodo squirm in an instinctive wish to close his legs against
what he regarded as the King’s prying gaze.

Wait a sec — Aragorn is already the king of Gondor in this story? So he has a hole nation of people he could order to examine Frodo’s vagina, but he decided he wanted to do it himself. In fact, he probably had people who volunteered to do it, so the king wouldn’t have to fingerblast a Hobbit, but he turned them down.

“It will go easier for you, little one, if you do not tense up so.”

Damn Aragorn and his gentle voice, Frodo thought savagely even as he
nodded, concentrating on relaxing the muscles that had automatically
tightened upon the realization of Aragorn’s proximity.

“I am going to touch you now.”

Again, just to make things clear, Aragorn is about to put his fingers in the vagina that Frodo Baggins suddenly has. I didn’t want that to be lost on anyone.

He felt gentle hands brush the place that had metamorphosed over the
last six months, forming a new, intimate part of his anatomy. Now, with
Aragorn’s fingers parting the folds of his secret place and the man’s
eyes fastened upon that area, his embarrassment was immeasurable. He
had not thought it possible to blush so hotly, but his face felt as if
it were on fire; surely it must be glowing like the beacons on the
heights. He bit his lower lip, glancing to the side in an attempt to
distract himself–to little avail–from the sight of his widespread thighs
and the King bent between them.


Frodo sure is being a pussy about growing a vegina.

“You are lubricating . . . and your vulva is a bit swollen, which is
normal during pregnancy. No significant irritation or redness . . .”

“But I can fix that!” said Aragorn happily.

Aragorn palpated the tender flesh, rubbing and exploring in a way that,
Frodo felt, was quite inappropriate. The feeling intensified as the
fingers carefully parted the inner folds and stretched wide his opening
for Aragorn’s scrutiny.

So let me get this straight. This author decided she wanted a story where Aragorn masturbated Frodo. But apparently, just a story where that happened was too simple — or, god help us all — too out of character. So her solution? To have Frodo suddenly come down with a bad case of twat, and have King Aragorn decide to play doctor — and then masturbate him.
/clears throat
WHAT IN THE FUCKING FUCK IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE

“I will be as gentle as I possibly can, Frodo. Especially as your hymen
is still intact.” At Frodo’s wide-eyed, questioning look, Aragorn
elaborated, “It is the maidenhead, a barrier that is usually broken when
a woman first engages in sexual intercourse. As, obviously, you have
never had sex as a woman does, yours is still unbroken.”

In all honesty, I’m pretty sure I do remember a “Frodo Baggins: Pregnant Vaginal Virgin” in The Book of Lost Tales volume 8 or something. 

Completely dazed, Frodo nodded, wishing Aragorn would stop talking and
let him be. But no one with the power to grant such wishes seemed to be
listening, for the human continued to speak.

“Now, I will need you to bear down and push, much as if you were having a
bowel movement.” At Frodo’s expression–one of mixed confusion and
distaste at the comparison Aragorn had just drawn–the King explained,
“It is a way to test the pelvic floor and perfectly routine in an
examination such as this. Trust me, Frodo.”

“After all, my first decree as king was I must give all my subjects thorough gynecological examinations. Yes, the men too. So I know a little something about it.”

Sighing heavily, Frodo gave in and did as he had been told. Aragorn
seemed satisfied with whatever results this action had produced for he
moved on–making the Hobbit jump slightly as the large fingers moved down
and parted his buttocks. He made a half-protesting, half-outraged
noise which Aragorn, this time, seemed incline to take in stride and
without comment.

“Tell me, have you experienced any itching or burning in this area?” The
tip of a finger pressed lightly against the Hobbit’s anus, making Frodo
shift and squeak a little in protest. “Answer enough,” the King said,
apparently deciding it was best to spare Frodo from answering aloud. “I
will give you something to help with that problem before you leave here
today. It is another very common pregnancy issue.”

“Now, Frodo, do you experience any discomfort when I shove my finger in your asshole? Yes? No? What if I wiggle it around a little while it’s in there?”

Aragorn’s soft voice urged him to relax and then quite abruptly Frodo
felt the lips of his sex being parted and the feel of two cold–a little
cold indeed!–fingers entering him and sliding in deeply. It was a tight
fit in Frodo’s opinion, not entirely eased by the substance on those
fingers in spite of the copious amounts Aragorn had used. Distracted by
his own discomfort, he only vaguely heard Aragorn’s request to tell him
if he experienced any pain or tenderness throughout this part of the
examination.

After what felt like an eternity of fingers that poked and prodded from
within and without, they withdrew. Even as they did, Aragorn’s free
hand slipped over Frodo’s belly, palpating gently for a few minutes
before he withdrew for the moment, nodding to himself. Aragorn studied
his fingers, going so far as to sniff the mix of lubricant and vaginal
fluid coating them. Frodo watched this with an almost hopeful
expression, thinking the worst might be over.

“Everything appears quite normal,” Aragorn announced after a moment,
turning away to wash his hands and then, to Frodo’s dismay, re-coat them
in the slippery substance once more.

Everything appears quite normal, he said to the Hobbit with the brand-new vagina.

“I must perform another exam
before we proceed, Frodo. This time, however, I must place one finger
in your vagina and the other within your rectum.”

“And I need you to call me ‘daddy’ while I do it. For medical purposes only, I assure you.”

All the poor Hobbit could think was Ah, but of course.

Aragorn seemed to divine Frodo’s utter unhappiness at the prospect and
gently rested a hand on one of the Hobbit’s bent knees. “In any
pregnancy, there are certain things that must be checked in such a way–I
assure you; you are not a unique case in this instance. I will be as
swift as possible. Now, if you could just relax for me . . .”

“Certain things must be tested this way, such as: does it turn me on to make you into my personal Chinese finger trap? Yes, it turns out that it does. Test successful.”

“That,” Frodo said a little acidly, “is easier said than done.” Still
he did try; an effort that was utterly pointless in the end. At the
first touch of Aragorn’s fingers he tensed, taking in a sharp breath.
Let’s take a small breather, then continue on the next page. It’s going to get a bit Toht-y in a minute.

—-

“Relax,” Aragorn urged softly as his index finger gently pressed into
Frodo’s birth passage once more. The second finger of the same hand
slid the short distance to explore the tight ring of muscles at the
Hobbit’s other entrance.

“Now I’m going to see if I can touch my fingers together. You may experience some discomfort.”

Frodo could not stifle a slight whimper as the finger pressed forward
into him. However slowly, however gently Aragorn performed the action,
the fingers that found their way deep inside him were quite
uncomfortable, almost to the point of pain, and evoked a strange feeling
of fullness as they poked and prodded at sensitive, unidentified
internal parts of Frodo’s new physiology. They caused Frodo to squirm
slightly as they moved deeper still, inching higher up into his birth
passage and backside until he could feel knuckles against his flesh.

“Be still,” Aragorn murmured softly, doing very little to put the Hobbit
at ease as the pressing and probing and squeezing intensified.

“YOU’RE RUINING IT FOR ME.”

It was a pity that certain male parts of Frodo did not feel the
discomfort that the rest of him did. Feeling the tide of embarrassment
and mortification washing over him once more, he waited for the eternity
it seemed to take for Aragorn to finish the examination and pull his
fingers out.

Wait.

So Frodo still has his dick? It’s just been hanging out at the top of his new vagina this entire time? Jesus god.

“We are getting toward the end, I promise you,” Aragorn said, thoroughly
cleansing his hands. “I still must, however, look up inside you.” The
King sounded almost apologetic, which did nothing for Frodo in that
moment.

“Look up inside me?” the Hobbit almost squeaked, utterly horrified and
wishing he could simply sink through the table and into the floor
beneath, never to be seen again.

If only he had some kind of MAGIC RING THAT TURNED HIM COMPLETELY INVISIBLE

“Do not fear, Frodo,” Aragorn said, turning back and smiling at his thoroughly embarrassed patient. “I will not hurt you.”

“And when I say I won’t hurt you, I mean I will be hurting you emotionally, to the point where the scars never heal.”

Frodo said nothing to that, feeling unable to dignify the words with a polite answer.

Aragorn reached over to a small table that Frodo only now noticed and
chose an implement that Frodo did not wish to have inside him in the
least. It was rounded at one end and hinged and for a long moment he
simply stared at it, trying to discern its part in all of this.

“I will use this speculum to completely open your vagina so that I may
inspect both it and your cervix. This will allow me to check for
anything I have missed–do not look so afraid, Frodo. I assure you it is
quite all right.”

“Also, I need you to start sucking on this lollipop and humming Katy Perry’s “California Girls’ song.” Again, this is all standard medical procedure, Frodo.”

Frodo gulped and stared wide-eyed at the device, but nodded his
understanding as Aragorn prepared it with lubricant. When he had
finished, the King turned back to his patient, the instrument poised to
enter the Hobbit.

“I will use my fingers to open your vaginal lips, much as I did
earlier,” Aragorn explained. “Then I will insert this into you and use
it to stretch you for my examination. You will need to relax the walls
of your vagina for me, and as your hymen is unbroken, the procedure may
be more uncomfortable than it would normally be for a woman.”

“Also because you’re a dude who’s less than three feet tall.”

Frodo nodded almost mechanically, not finding any of this new
information the least bit reassuring. Upon feeling Aragorn’s fingers
beginning to spread the lips of his opening, he lost all thought of
relaxation and flinched away, trying in vain to close his legs.

“Relax, Frodo. You must keep your bottom flat against the table, your
thighs spread. The faster I can begin,” Aragorn added encouragingly,
“the faster I can finish.”

Well, that line is just a gimme.

Frodo let out a shaky sigh and let his entire body go limp. He felt the
fingers opening him once more and the cold, slippery press of the
device at his opening. For all of Aragorn’s soft words, nothing quite
prepared him for the feeling of the device as it was pushed inside him,
all hard metal lines, nor the sharp pain when the hymen was stretched
and broken. He dropped his head back with a soft gasp, wishing the
entire thing to simply be over.

“Shhh, you’re doing fine…”

There was another span of interminable moments before the device was in,
and he began to feel the pressure against his insides as the two halves
were slowly pushed apart. He could not suppress a whimper as the
discomfort slowly grew. The relentless stretching and the feeling of
cool air on newly exposed, sensitive tissues made him realize that he
must be spread wide indeed.

“It’s all right,” Aragorn murmured, beginning to hum softly as he pulled
a light over and leaned in close to Frodo’s private parts. He peered
into the enlarged birth passage, intently studying the view provided by
the speculum and making the Hobbit feel utterly naked, stripped of
dignity, and completely mortified–again. Frodo felt the hot sting of
tears prick his eyes as he lay there, so vulnerable and so acutely aware
of his exposure.

When Aragorn spoke, it was in a vague way, as if his concentration were
more on the examination itself than what he was saying. “The walls of
your vagina appear perfectly normal . . . a nice, healthy pink, with no
signs of inflammation. Though,” he added after another moment’s
examining during which Frodo attempted not to squirm due to sheer
discomfort, “there is a good bit of mucus discharge being produced and
pooling at the bottom, making it a little difficult to adequately
examine the opening of your cervix. I must clear some away so that I
may get a better look.”

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Feeling strangely unsurprised at this newest tear at his dignity, Frodo
simply nodded and watched as Aragorn turned to retrieve something from
the table beside him. When he turned back, the Hobbit saw that he was
holding a paddle that was obviously meant to assist Aragorn in the task
of clearing away the discharge. He felt a stab of irritation as Aragorn
once again urged him to relax as he leaned forward and began to guide
the paddle inside.

It’s just like when the Fellowship sailed down the river Anduin, instead of a river, it’s Frodo’s poontang, and instead of the Fellowship paddling water, Aragorn is “paddling” cervical mucus.

Immediately Frodo tensed, the foreign feel of the object entering him
unpleasant and the metal instrument holding him open made even more so
by his clenching muscles.

“Breathe, Frodo. Relax your vaginal muscles for me. Tightening them
will only make the speculum more painful.” Aragorn’s voice was kind and
sympathetic as he rested a hand lightly on the Hobbit’s thigh in
reassurance. “It will be over quickly.”

There is absolutely zero chance Aragorn isn’t masturbating under the exam table, is there?

“I’m all right,” Frodo said after several moments, during which he took
in several deep lungfuls of air and told his body sternly to relax.

Aragorn resumed the insertion of the paddle, speaking all the while.
“Very good, Frodo. Now that it is inside you, I will proceed to scrape
away the discharge. You may feel some discomfort as I scrape at the
back of your vagina, but I promise there will be no real pain.”

Frodo nodded, feeling utterly incapable of speech as Aragorn began the
procedure. The feeling of the paddle inside of him was altogether as
uncomfortable as he’d thought it to be. It moved against his cervix in a
sweep that prickled strangely, making him whimper as it moved.

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WHY ON GOD’S EARTH WOULD ANYONE CHOOSE TO WRITE THIS DOWN WHHHHHHHHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

“It’s all right,” came Aragorn’s gentle voice again. “We are almost there, Frodo. One more time.”

Frodo endured the scrape of the wooden paddle once more, and then sighed
in relief as it was withdrawn. The relief was short-lived as Aragorn
leaned back in to continue the scrutiny, his view of Frodo’s cervix now
unobscured.

The Hobbit now made a point of staring at the stone ceiling above him,
steadfastly refusing to glance down his own body to see the dark head
between his legs so intently examining his insides. The sound of the
King’s voice floated to him, once again resuming that strangely
distracted cadence as he murmured over what he saw there.

“Your cervix is perfectly normal for this stage of pregnancy–tightly
closed, and with no sign of any irregularities.”

“Although I tried my best to change that.”

As Aragorn spoke,
Frodo felt the device shift inside him and waited for several long,
agonizing moments for Aragorn to complete what the Hobbit was quickly
beginning to label as a new kind of torture. But Aragorn seemed content
with looking for a bit longer before he finally spoke again.

“Now I will guide this out of you slowly, Frodo, so that I may observe
the upper and lower vaginal walls as I do so. Keep yourself relaxed …”

Temporary relief gripped Frodo as the instrument was slowly
withdrawn–much too slowly for Frodo’s taste—a very odd sensation that
was far less uncomfortable than when it was going in. But relief gave
way once again to embarrassment as the device left his body with a very
audible suck.

“There we go,” Aragorn said, seeming not to have heard the noise
or–Frodo realized–choosing to ignore it to try and preserve some of his
patient’s thoroughly shredded dignity.
Frodo felt Aragorn withdraw finally from between his thighs and forced
himself to look at the human as he spoke once more. It wasn’t quite the
words of closing and dismissal the Hobbit had hoped for.

“Everything looks fine, Frodo. The rather excessive amounts of
discharge are quite common during pregnancy. Though,” he added
thoughtfully, “you might perhaps wish to use a cloth at regular
intervals to clean yourself.”

Did any of you guys, at any point today, think you were going to have the mental image of Frodo Baggins’ cleaning his vagina forced on you? You are ever so welcome.

Feeling it impossible to become any more mortified, Frodo listened with a
slightly shocked expression as Aragorn spoke. There were things like
“might have some spotting for a day or two” and “may wish to refrain
from vaginal penetration in the last weeks of your pregnancy,” all of
which made him feel even more battered and violated. “In summation,” the
King finished, “you and the babe are both quite well.”

“Well, thank you for that, Dr. Aragorn. But I you might recall, the
whole reason I asked for help in the first place is because I SUDDENLY
GREW A FUCKING TWAT. I’m a little elso concerned with the baby’s health
as I am with the question OF WHY I’M HAVING  A FUCKING BABY. Did you
manage to come up with any ideas on that while you had your finger in my
asshole, you fuck?l”

Frodo let out a shaking breath, thinking his ordeal over and attempting
to scramble out of the stirrups that held his feet and into a sitting
position. But to his dismay, Aragorn rose and stayed his movements.
“What else is there?” he asked, almost desperately.

“I wish to check your breasts, that is all. To ensure that you are
preparing in all ways for the birth. This is the final part of the
exam,” Aragorn reassured the now distraught-looking Hobbit gently. “I
promise, Frodo.”

“And standard medical procedure says I’ll need to make honking noises while I squeeze your nipples.”

Unhappily, Frodo let his gown fall fully open as Aragorn requested,
exposing his swollen belly and equally swollen breasts. Aragorn’s large
hands explored each one separately, pressing and squeezing, making the
Hobbit yelp as his over-sensitive and sore nipples were touched.

Whatever Aragorn discerned from his manhandling of Frodo seemed to
please him, for he murmured a soft “Ah, yes. Perfect,” as he finished.

“Is that all?” Frodo had never been so anxious to flee Aragorn’s company
in all the time he’d known him and at his friend’s nod, he nearly fell
off the table trying to get down once his feet were freed.

“However,” Aragorn stayed his movements with the words, “I wish to see you back here for weekly checkups.”

This was too much for the poor Hobbit, who burst into tears, deciding
that Lothlorien would freeze before he ever let Sam touch him again.

Yep. Someone wrote nearly 4000 words about Aragorn giving Frodo a gynecological exam — and a very thorough one, if an almost certainly unprofessional one. Wondering why anyone would do such a thing is even more disturbing than the story itself, in my opinion.