Author: Evermind
E-mail: [email protected]
Pairing: Frodo/Sam
Rating: PG
Category: Romance. So fluffy you could eat it at a carnival.
Summary: A hobbit's life revolves around food... mostly.
Disclaimer: Based on The Lord of the Rings trilogy by J.R.R. Tolkien. Do not
attempt to actually eat this fic, unless of course you print it out first.
Feedback: Comments, criticism and nitpicks all welcome.
Archiving: Whether or No, Library of Moria, others just ask
Author's Notes: Based in book canon.
Thanks To: Rachel, Wielder of the Red Pen
* * *
It was always Sam's favorite part of the day.
He would be bent to his tasks in the afternoon sun, and then, "Come join me
for tea, Sam, would you?" and Sam would smile, always, and draw water from the
well to wash up.
Today the tea was a lovely fragrant one Sam had never tasted before, and when
he asked about it Frodo told him he'd got it special from the Southfarthing
the week before.
"Bilbo used to like it," he said. "He used to have it in winter when he sat
at his books."
"I reckon that must have been often," Sam nodded, remembering the warm light
from Bilbo's study.
They chatted easily and about many things. Frodo's hands were rosy against
the white porcelain cup and his eyes threw out golden light from the window,
and as always it was Sam's favorite part of the day.
The dregs were long dried in their cups before they thought to clear the
table. Sam looked at the tawny light outside. How long had they been talking?
He realized that he would not finish his work in the garden before nightfall,
and would have to come back in the morning. He felt terribly guilty.
He smiled all the way home.
The next day Sam arrived especially early to make up for his idling the day
before. He had been working for several hours before the smell of bacon frying
wafted to him from Frodo's kitchen.
The smell of bacon can fly in the face of even the staunchest work ethic,
particularly when one has been up since dawn pulling weeds, and Sam began
thinking about going home for second breakfast. His stomach was just on the
verge of
deciding for him when he heard a cheerful voice calling from the kitchen door.
"Good morning, Sam," Frodo hailed him. "Are you hungry?"
Sam blinked. He couldn't.
"Really, sir, I couldn't," Sam insisted as Frodo pushed a third helping of
eggs onto his plate.
"You can and you will," Frodo told him with a grin. "I made far too much."
There was no arguing that, and if Sam had not been enjoying himself so he
would have thought to wonder what possessed his master to cook a whole dozen
eggs
in the first place. As it was, he didn't think about it, and the eggs really
were quite good, made with parsley and just a touch of milk, and the bacon was
crisp but not overdone, and there were sweet rolls with butter and jam.
And then Frodo began telling him about a book he was reading, an elvish one
that Bilbo had translated, and he almost forgot to finish what was on his plate.
All in all it was a splendid morning, though hardly a repentance. Sam felt
guiltier than ever, and whistled as he went back to work.
The garden at Bag End was quite large, but not so much that it needed care
every day, unless a dry spell saw him hauling buckets of water or heavy rains
set the weeds flourishing along with the flowers (though Sam didn't mind those
times as much as he probably should have). As it was lately, though, the
summer weather was holding fair and seasonable, and he only needed to come by
once
every few days to trim the grass and keep the flower beds in order.
But those days had become a marvel, for quite out of nowhere Sam and his
master had begun taking their meals together. They had rarely done so before,
save for tea. Sam had expected to catch it from his father, as he was likely
overstepping his bounds, but to his surprise the Gaffer only nodded sagely and
tapped the ashes out of his pipe. "Can't say as I'm surprised. Been almost a
whole year of the poor lad eating by hisself up in that place."
Sam had gotten rather upset on hearing that. It simply hadn't occurred to
him before that Frodo would be lonely, what with all the time he spent tramping
about with his friends and cousins, and with all those wonderful books to
read. He thought about what he would do if his father and sisters suddenly
moved
out of their home and left him behind, and he chided himself soundly for not
being more sensitive to his master's distress.
Well, there was nothing for it. He would just have to keep Frodo company.
One early afternoon in August they sat together at lunch, and Frodo was
touching his thumb to the cleft of his chin in that thoughtful way he had. "I
don't think I want too many people," Frodo was saying. "Maybe about fifteen or
twenty. But I want to go all out. Make a real feast of it."
"Mr. Bilbo would approve," Sam observed, though a bit distractedly.
Frodo nodded. "He was always one for birthday parties. And I want to keep
up the tradition, Sam, and do it every year. After all, Bilbo going off on a
journey is no reason for his birthday to go uncelebrated." He smiled and took
a bite of chicken.
"And yours too, of course," Sam reminded him. He was a little disturbed at
how Frodo kept referring to it as 'Bilbo's birthday party.'
"Yes, yes, of course, but--" Frodo stopped, and rubbed his hand across his
chin. "Do I have something on my face?" he asked.
Sam's cheeks were suddenly scalding hot. "Just a bit of mustard right there,
Mr. Frodo, begging your pardon," he stammered.
Frodo picked up his napkin and wiped. "Did I get it all?" Sam nodded
dumbly. "Sam, you goose, you shouldn't be embarrassed to tell me a thing like
that."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo."
"Don't give it another thought. Now, I was thinking I should get it catered
by that place in Michel Delving that we used the year before last..."
Sam managed not to stare through the rest of their luncheon, though his heart
continued to beat somewhat faster than normal. It was a good thing there had
actually been a spot of mustard on Frodo's chin.
The invitation card was written in dark green ink and was very pretty, though
not quite so elaborate as the one from the year before. Sam stood right on
the doorstep where the post-hobbit handed it to him and read it four times
before he brought it inside. "I want to go, too," pouted Marigold when she saw
it. "The party last year was so grand, and Tom danced with me, twice!"
"It ain't going to be anything like that this year," Sam informed her. "It's
just a small gathering." Of his closest friends, Frodo had said. Sam read
the invitation a few more times.
Of course Sam had been a bit nervous about it. After all, he wouldn't
exactly be in the same class as the other guests. But as it turned out he had
nothing to worry about, as Frodo didn't hold with the sort to be uppish. Sam
got
on quite well with Frodo's cousin Merry and the young Bolger that everyone
called Fatty, and at some point after everyone had lost count of their ales (and
toasts to Bilbo's health), the three joined together in a boisterous song that
earned them a wild bout of applause. That had been the second best part of
the whole occasion.
All day long there had been a ridiculous amount of food, Frodo feeling the
need to live up to the party's name of 'Hundred-weight Feast' even though there
were only twenty guests. There were several meals throughout the day, but if
they were feasts, then the last of them was an absolute banquet.
One would think that by that time, the very thought of food would have sent
Frodo's guests out into the front yard to heave politely in the bushes, but
these were hobbits, and they tackled the spread before them undaunted. And
somehow, Frodo had ended up sitting right across from Sam, even though he should
have been at the head of the table.
"Are you having a good time, then?" Frodo asked sometime during the supper, a
touch of red wine lingering on his smile.
"Very much so, sir," Sam answered merrily. "You and Mr. Bilbo throw a fine
party."
"We do what we can," Frodo laughed, lifting his glass. "To Bilbo."
Frodo said it quietly, at least compared to the roar of conversation all
about them, but Sam heard him. He lifted his own glass, and Bilbo was toasted
privately by the two who loved him best.
And then there were the presents. Every last one of them fine and
thoughtfully chosen and thoroughly delightful, as befitted the Master of Bag
End. Merry
received a deck of beautifully illustrated playing cards and was promptly
challenged by one of his cousins, who should have known better (and would leave
with a much lighter purse for his trouble).
Sam opened the long wooden box he was handed and found a splendid feather
quill and a bottle of ink, like the kind he'd seen Frodo use. Then Frodo said,
"And this, too," and handed him a book with a cover of soft brown leather, and
when Sam opened it he found the pages inside were blank. "Because you told me
about how you sometimes make up rhymes in your head, but always end up
forgetting them."
Sam was overwhelmed. "Thank you, sir," he said, when he finally found his
voice.
That had been the best part.
The next morning was lovely and bright, a fact that would be lamented by many
a hung over hobbit that woke later on. But it was early yet, and when Sam
padded down the hallway to the kitchen he found it empty. Fortunately it was
also clean, thanks to the departed serving staff.
Sam never woke up sick no matter how much he drank, which was fortunate, as
he had downed quite a bit. A pitcher of water sat on the table. It was warm,
but he poured himself a glass anyway.
"I can't believe you're awake," came a voice from behind him, and Sam turned
around to find Frodo there, already up and dressed.
"I might say the same to you, sir, begging your pardon."
"Yes, well, I didn't indulge nearly as much as the rest of you last night,"
Frodo said loftily. "I *am* the host, after all."
"And a right fine one at that," Sam said truthfully.
Frodo grinned and leaned over to peer around Sam's shoulder. "Is anyone else
awake yet?"
"None as yet, sir."
"Good. I could do with a bit of quiet before I have to start tending to
them."
Sam drained his water glass. "And you'll have it, as I'm about to be going."
"Oh, no, I didn't mean you," Frodo reassured him hastily.
"I wasn't thinking you did," Sam smiled, shrugging on his waistcoat. "But
like as not my dad's got some work for me, being as Ham and his wife are on
their way."
"Ah, that's right! My, but the days pass quickly. But surely you at least
have time for breakfast? I shan't keep you long." His smile was warm and
gracious.
It would be impolite to refuse, Sam decided, and the Gaffer would never hold
with him being impolite, even if it meant being a little late. "I'll get it
for us, then, Mr. Frodo."
"You'll do no such thing, Sam Gamgee. Until you walk out the door today,
you're still my guest. Now, sit."
"Nonsense," Sam said stubbornly. "I kept my peace last night and didn't lift
a finger, as you told me I shouldn't, but you had lots of help then, and--"
"Now, now, just humor an old hobbit, will you?" Frodo laughed, and with a
hand on Sam's shoulder he guided him to a chair and sat him down, and that was
the end of that. "I think I have a mind for porridge this morning. You?" Sam
nodded, his ears bright pink.
It was a very simple breakfast, and very good, and then they got to talking
about all sorts of things, and when the others began to stir several hours
later they were just finishing with the dishes. "Bless me, but you can hear
them
grousing already," Sam chuckled at the groans coming from one of the guest
rooms. "I suppose I ought to stay and help."
"Don't pay them any heed," Frodo told him as he dried off a bowl. "You need
to be getting home. And of course you'll want some time to spend with your
brother, so I'm giving you the week off."
"Mr. Frodo!" Sam exclaimed. "I couldn't possibly take a week. The hedges
are already overgrown, and the grass on the Hill needs a trimming."
"You *will* take a week, Sam, and the hedges and the grass will still be here
when you get back. Though I shall miss the sound of your shears in the
afternoon," he added, and something about the way he said it had Sam blushing
again.
So off he went, along the path down to the Row, with his wonderful gifts
tucked under his arm and a farewell wave from Frodo. And he knew that Frodo
stood
at the door and watched until he was out of sight, and the flutter in his
chest didn't fade until a good bit later.
The hedges and grass were indeed there when he got back, and so they remained
for many years. One bright and beautiful April morning Sam was trimming the
grass about the windows. Or at least he was supposed to be.
Gandalf had arrived at Bag End the night before. Sam had seen him when he
was walking home from The Green Dragon. It was no accident that he had placed
himself in view of the front windows all morning while he was cutting the
grass, and even less of an accident that he decided the borders were looking
shaggy
just as two figures adjourned into the study.
He knew what they were saying was terribly important, and he eventually
stopped his shears altogether. The conversation inside was as disturbing as it
was
informative. Rings, enemies, mountains--oh, and elves! Anything to do with
elves couldn't be so bad, could it? But wait, yes it could, if he was hearing
right--
"And I suppose I must go alone, if I am to do that and save the Shire. But I
feel very small, and very uprooted, and well--desperate. The Enemy is so
strong and terrible."
Sam's breath caught in his throat. Frodo was really going to do it. For a
minute there he had sounded like he wouldn't. But he was, and Gandalf was
going to let him, and just why couldn't Gandalf take that wretched thing,
anyway?
Imagine, Mr. Frodo going off into the wide world all by himself! Sam felt
his eyes grow hot and his throat clench, and he choked back a sob.
And then he was caught. Gandalf hauled him inside and looked so huge and
angry it scared him nearly half to death. But somehow he ended up being told he
was going with Frodo after all, and that he was going to see elves, and it was
all quite too much for him and he burst into tears right there in the middle
of Frodo's study.
"Come now, lad, it will be all right," Frodo said with a just a hint of
amusement in his voice, putting an arm around Sam and handing him a
handkerchief.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo," Sam said haltingly, trying to compose himself. "It's
just a lot to take in, is all."
"I know," Frodo said. "For both of us." Then he gave Sam a glass of water
and sent him off to wash his face, and when Sam came back he was as calm as
anything.
In true Baggins fashion (and with the breakfast dishes cleared only an hour
before), Frodo pronounced it was time for elevenses, and the three of them sat
down to cheese and fresh bread and fruit preserves. The fire was bright and
the day outside brighter still, and that did something to allay the darkness
even as they were forced to speak of it.
Sam ate and listened, and the wheels in his head were turning.
Frodo had been watching him all day.
In the morning, while Sam was clipping the hedges, Frodo was watching him.
Then they had lunch together, and of course Frodo was looking at him because
they were sitting right across from each other. But then Sam went back out to
weed the herb garden, and then the vegetable garden, and then he was watering
the window boxes and Frodo was still watching him.
Finally he heard Frodo call him in for tea, and he was strangely relieved.
It wasn't that he minded Frodo watching him. In fact, he kind of liked it.
But there was something different about it today. Maybe it was the way Frodo
seemed to be trying to hide it; he was moving from window to window but never
approaching them too closely, instead standing far inside the rooms as if he
expected the relative dimness to shield him from sight. Which it largely did,
but most people could tell when they were being watched, and Sam was no
exception.
The tea was already steeping when Sam got to the kitchen. Frodo was seated
in his customary spot across from the window, and ordinarily Sam would sit
across from him, but for some reason his place was set in the spot adjacent to
him. When Sam sat down, their knees touched. He swallowed.
Usually Frodo greeted him with a cheerful smile and some sort of pleasantry,
but today he said nothing, and didn't look at him. He just poured the tea,
and gestured to the sweet biscuits and sponge cake on the table. But for once,
Sam wasn't feeling very hungry.
He sipped at his tea, and now he looked at Frodo, who seemed very preoccupied
with the goings-on outside the window, of which there were none. Maybe he
had decided he'd looked at Sam enough that day and it was time to look at other
things.
Finally Sam put down his cup and cleared his throat. "Sir," he began
awkwardly, "is something the matter?"
Now Frodo looked at him, and sighed, and set his cup down. "There's
something I must discuss with you, Sam."
Sam waited.
"Gandalf left two days ago," Frodo began, "and--well, when he was here, it
gave me courage, and hope. But now he's gone, and I don't know that I have
those things any more, and I'm going to need both of them if I'm to do what I
must."
"But sir," Sam objected, "you do have them! Else you wouldn't have agreed to
any of it in the first place."
"I did have them, when Gandalf was here. But now I'm unsure of myself, Sam.
Or even more so. And I keep wondering what he could have heard, to take off
so suddenly like that."
"Are you thinking then, sir, that you might not--that is, are you thinking
that you won't--"
"No," Frodo said firmly. "It's not for me to decide. For some reason I seem
to have been chosen, and I have to see it through, to whatever end."
For all that Frodo seemed to think he lacked in courage, no one had ever
seemed to Sam so brave. "Well, you won't have to go it alone, Mr. Frodo," Sam
pledged. "You've got me."
"Yes," Frodo said, turning away. "As a matter of fact, Sam, that was just
what I wanted to discuss with you." His dark curls hid his face. "You cannot
come with me."
Sam felt his stomach drop. "Beg your pardon, sir?" he asked quietly, hoping
he had heard wrong.
"You cannot come with me," Frodo repeated, stronger now, and he turned and
looked Sam in the eye. "At first I wanted you to, because I was afraid, and
because I was pained at the thought of leaving all my friends behind. But now
Gandalf is gone, and I am even more afraid, and I realize just how selfish I
have been. I cannot lead you into these dangers."
"But sir," Sam protested, "it's the danger as why you can't go alone, and
Gandalf said as much."
"My mind is made up, Sam."
"Well, mine is too, sir, begging your pardon. I'll not see you out into
who-knows-what without me to look after you."
"You don't understand--"
"I understand very well, Mr. Frodo. But if this here quest is all so
important, then it needs all the help it can get, see? Would you go off without
food
or water, then, or a spare set of clothes?"
"No, but--"
"But you *would* go without someone to share the night watch, or help gather
firewood, or help you up if you should stumble on the road. Pardon me for
saying so, sir, but that just don't make no sense." He had never taken such a
tone with his master before, but it was all for Frodo's own good. "Now, you can
either take me with you, or try to outrun me," he finished, crossing his
arms.
Frodo looked at him for a moment. Then he did the last thing Sam expected.
He reached out and curled his warm fingers under Sam's chin. Then he leaned
very, very close. And kissed him. Right on the mouth.
Sam was thoroughly shocked, and gaped at Frodo as he pulled back.
"Well?" Frodo said softly. "What do you think, now?"
Thinking was quite beyond Sam at the moment. He was still at the gaping
stage.
"Maybe I ought to repeat myself," said Frodo, and kissed him again.
Sam wasn't sure exactly what had happened, but soon it involved his fingers
in Frodo's hair, and of course Frodo's mouth, which was soft and hot and tasted
like tea. The corner of the table was still in between them, which was
rather bothersome, but other than that it was marvelous, and it went on for some
time.
He was a bit dizzy when Frodo finally pulled back again, and he struggled to
catch his breath.
Frodo seemed a little breathless, too. "Really, Sam, this is most unfair of
you," he said. "This is not the way it was supposed to go."
Sam nodded, not paying much attention. He was busy wondering if all this
would be considered a breach of etiquette, and, if so, when they were going to
get back to breaching again.
"Sam, are you listening?"
"Yes, sir," Sam blinked, focusing his eyes.
"It wasn't supposed to go this way."
"It wasn't?"
"No! I never thought--that is, I thought that if my hopes were dashed, it
would be easier for me to leave."
"Leave me behind, you mean," Sam accused.
"Well, yes, that too. I care for you, Sam," Frodo said finally. "Very
greatly."
"And I for you, Mr. Frodo. Which is why I'm going with you."
Frodo looked stricken for a moment, but then a smile broke over his face. "I
don't suppose there's anything I can do about that."
"Naught as I can think of."
"All right, then," Frodo conceded, and leaned forward again.
The tea was quite cold by the time they got back to it.
Still, it was Sam's favorite part of the day.
* * *
N.B.
Frodo's line, "And I suppose I must go alone..." taken directly from *The
Fellowship of the Ring,* Book I, Chapter II. As if you didn't know.