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.
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Story notes: Author's Notes: Based in book canon.
Thanks To: Rachel, Wielder of the Red Pen
Chapter end notes: N.B. Frodo's line, "And I suppose I must go alone..." taken directly from The Fellowship of the Ring, Book
