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A Fair Trade
Sam closed the bedroom door behind him as noiselessly as
possible. With a curt nod of his head, he headed for the kitchen, Daisy silently
following behind him. It was only there, in the familiar comfort and warmth of
the kitchen of Bag End that he dared turn and look directly into her shadowed
but sympathetic eyes.
“Aye, Sam, ‘tis the summer fever, sure enow,” she murmured, experienced in
breaking this news to the families of her patients. “But he’s strong, and young,
and healthy, for all he seems slight, and his chances are good indeed,” she
quickly consoled him, laying a gentle hand on her brother’s shoulder. “I’d not
be thinkin’ that the summer fever’d be what takes Frodo Baggins off, t’be sure.
I’ll be gone for sunsword, and you just keep him warm until I get back. Courage,
Sam dear, don’t you be lettin’ him see you fret, now.”
Sam nodded, not trusting his voice to utter any words, and saw her to the
kitchen door. With a quick, reassuring hug, she was gone, into the dark of the
chilly night. It was only a few days from mid-summer, but the nights had not
gained the mellow warmth of deep summer yet, and soon as the sun set, there was
frequently a chilly breeze, and those sitting in front of a snug fire were
thankful for its warmth. He turned back to the kitchen fire, and swung the
kettle on its blackened hinge back over the flames again. It wouldn’t hurt to
take a fresh pot of tea back with him; Frodo might want it, there was no
telling, and it would be comforting to have it ready.
Sightlessly, he stood leaning against the kitchen table, waiting numbly for the
water to boil. It had all happened so suddenly; he still didn’t quite know how.
He had come in early this morning, glad to get some hoeing done in the cool
morning air, and found Frodo still in bed, not looking well at all. His normally
fair coloring had gone somewhat greyish, and the touch of his skin was damp and
clammy. He had refused to admit that he was feeling under the weather though,
and had insisted on getting up and dressed. He had waved away breakfast,
however, claiming to still feel full from dinner the night before, though Sam
could not remember them eating anything out of the ordinary. Walking slowly to
the study, he told Sam, rather testily, to go about his tasks and not mind him,
as he planned on just doing some quiet reading.
Sam had reluctantly left, for he knew Frodo hated being fussed over, but found
some excuse to be back and a question to ask regarding the planting of the back
field, no more than an hour later. That question never was asked however, for
when he returned, he found Frodo clenched into a ball on the settle, in obvious
distress. It only took one experienced glance for Sam to immediately fetch a
basin from the kitchen, in which Frodo promptly lost everything he had eaten for
the past day or so. It was only then that he was able to coax Frodo back to bed,
quickly undressing him, cleaning his face gently off, and helping him into a
fresh nightshirt. Frodo had groggily whispered his thanks, and had straight away
fallen asleep. But his sleep had clearly not been restful, as he twisted and
moaned in it, and when Sam had felt his forehead, it was unmistakably hot. He
watched over Frodo for the rest of the afternoon, and then, fear beginning to
clutch at his heart, reluctantly left to quickly fetch Daisy.
The verdict was, as he had feared, summer fever, and nothing was more dangerous
or unpredictable than this scourge of summer in the Shire. Some folk got over it
with no trouble at all, as he had, five years back. But it had killed his mother
that same summer, and he had never forgotten Daisy’s grief at her helplessness
in its face. Daisy had had her own bout of it, his first summer with Frodo, as
had Tom Cotton and several others that eventful year. Once one recovered
however, if one did, there did seem to be some immunity to it, so he felt no
fear for himself, but he knew that Frodo had never had it. Bilbo had gone
through the fever when he was relatively young, before he left the Shire for the
first time Sam remembered his father telling him, and had been quite helpful in
assisting Hamfast Gamgee in tending to his ailing wife and son. But Bilbo had
carefully kept Frodo away from the Gamgees that summer. It was far less common
in Buckland and Frodo had never had any exposure to it before. He had not caught
it from Daisy last summer, though, so Sam had begun to think that possibly he
had brought the Buckland resistance to it with him. Apparently that was not the
case.
As soon as the water came to a boil, Sam poured it into the tea pot, and threw
in a handful of leaves. Taking care to leave the kitchen door unlatched for
Daisy‘s return, he quickly started back to the bedroom with the pot, not giving
the tea any time to steep. Daisy had given Frodo a sleeping potion just before
she had left, so he was most likely asleep, but one never knew.
And in fact, as Sam quietly entered, he immediately saw that Frodo was not.
Frodo’s eyes, dark in the fire and candlelight, followed him as he entered, and
he attempted a weak smile that went straight to Sam’s heart. “Oh, dearie,” he
murmured, quickly setting the immediately forgotten tea pot on the small table
under the round window, and hurrying over to Frodo’s side.
Frodo’s smile ruefully widened a bit at Sam‘s reaction, and he painstakingly
raised a hand to clasp Sam’s strong one. “Summer fever, I expect,” his voice was
hoarse and the words only came out with some obvious difficulty.
“Hush, now, me dear, don’t you worry a bit,” Sam whispered without thinking,
grabbing a towel from the chair beside the bed, and wiping Frodo’s fevered
forehead off with one hand as he returned Frodo’s clasp tightly with the other.
“It’ll be you doing the worrying, I’m afraid,” Frodo answered, his voice finding
some strength as he watched Sam’s face intently. “Listen to me, Sam, my dearest
Sam,” he added quietly.
Sam took Frodo’s hand in both of his at Frodo’s words, and tried his best to
keep his composure. Bursting into tears like a great noddy would do Frodo no
good at all, so he clamped his mouth shut and took a deep breath.
“Don’t be afraid for me. I love you very much, my own sweet Sam, and these past
couple of years, living with you, have been so happy, so very happy, for me,”
Frodo‘s voice was low but intent, and he looked searchingly into Sam’s eyes.
“I’ll not be giving you up now, not for anything, my dearest, so don’t you fear,
I’ll get over this. There’s only one more stubborn than a Gamgee, my love, and
that’s a Baggins. Be brave now, Sam-love, just trust in me.”
“I allus have, Frodo. An’ I allus will,” Sam gulped, and blinked quickly.
Frodo gave him a tired smile, and then, his hand dropping to his side, closed
his eyes. “Daisy must have given me something, didn’t she?” he murmured. “I
can’t believe I’m still sleepy. I’m afraid I must close my eyes for a bit,
Sam-love, but no fear, dearest.” Within a minute, his breathing steadied, and he
was fast asleep.
Sam rose and walked over to the window, laying his forehead against the welcome
chill of the glass. His tears, now that he had no need of hiding them, flowed
freely, but he fought to obey Frodo’s request. No fear, my love, he whispered to
himself.
&&&&&
He heard Daisy in the kitchen an hour later. Quickly, he carefully sat up at
Frodo’s side, where he had fallen into a light doze, and cautiously got up from
the bed. Frodo was still asleep, but his breathing was ragged, and his forehead
was wet with perspiration again. With a reluctant last glance backwards, Sam
left the room and taking the candle with him, made his way down the dark
corridor. The kitchen was lit only by the small lantern Daisy had brought back
with her, which she had placed on the kitchen table upon her return, and he
could see his sister bent over the kitchen fire, trying to stoke the embers back
to life again.
“Oh, Daisy dear, let me be doin’ that for you,” he hurried to her side, lighting
the other candles in the kitchen and bringing the room back out of darkness.
Daisy gratefully sank into the chair Sam pulled out for her, and wearily closed
her eyes. “Not that much of it, I’ll have t’be looking’ for a better patch come
morning, but it’ll do,” she murmured, indicating the dark green bundle on the
table.
Sam gave her a concerned glance as he set a kettle of water to boil. “I’d
remember how t’make it, Daisy, and you’d need some rest now,” he stated firmly,
drawing her up to her feet again. “Our spare room is ready for you, and that’s
where you’ll be bound now, and I’ll not be hearing another word on it.” He
refused to accept any disagreement on the matter, but wrapped an arm about her
shoulders, and took up the candle once again in his other hand, walking with her
to the guest room next to theirs.
Daisy, in no mood to decline his offer, did rather widen her tired eyes once
they entered the room, for the last time she had stayed in the more modest back
room, and made a feeble attempt at a protest, but Sam would not hear of it.
“This is my home,” he told her gently, but emphatically, “and you are my sister.
You deserve no less than this.”
Daisy gave him a wry smile then, as she sat at the side of the bed, and
gratefully began to unbutton the cuffs of the sleeves of her dress. “If you
like, Sam dear, for I am far too tired for it to matter any to me tonight, but
we’ll not be mentioning this to the gaffer, then, shall we?”
Sam’s fleeting smile was sudden, but with a certain shadow behind it. “There’d
be much I’d not be mentionin’ to the gaffer,” he replied shortly, and quickly
left her alone in the luxurious room.
&&&&&
It was a tentative knock that aroused Sam the next morning, polite and
understated, but persistent. He sat up in bed next to Frodo, who was still fast
asleep, and waited. It wasn’t long, before the three short knocks repeated, but
oddly enough, they appeared to be coming from the kitchen, rather than the front
door. With a great reluctance, he let Frodo’s hand go, and Frodo moaned quietly,
and turned restlessly to his side, away from Sam. Carefully easing himself off
of the bed, he grabbed his everyday trousers and his work shirt, and slipped
them back on. He stepped out of the bedroom into the hallway, venturing a quick
peek into the guest room next to theirs and finding Daisy still fast asleep as
well. With a wide yawn, and unconscious scratch of his head, he padded down the
hall to the kitchen, and curiously opened the kitchen door.
To his amazement, it was the gaffer who stood there in the early morning
sunlight, looking unmistakably unsure, with his straw work hat deferentially in
his hand. “Aye, well, I just be a’wonderin’ if Daisy’d be abouts,” he muttered,
shaking his head to decline Sam’s surprised but warm welcome and invitation to
step inside. “She’d not come home, last night, and I thought it might be you as
came by yesterday, making her leave in all of a flurry.”
“Oh, I thought she’d be tellin’ you,” Sam continued to hold the door open. “Come
in, won’t you, Da? There’s nobody else about yet, and I’d be in sore need of a
bit of tea, meself. Aye, she’s here, still asleep.”
“Summer fever, lad?” Hamfast asked quietly, reluctantly entering the kitchen at
last.
Sam immediately looked down, unable to reply, and turned to start up the fire.
Hamfast sighed at that confirmation. “Mr. Frodo,” he stated softly, and sat down
at the kitchen table.
Sam’s shoulders slumped, in unmistakable affirmation, as he kept his back to his
father, but he stayed silent. Mechanically he went through the movements of
taking up the kettle, stepping outside the door to the pump in the kitchen yard
and filling it up, and finally placing it on the hook and swinging it over the
newly kindled fire to boil. In all this time, his father quietly watched him,
and when Sam at last sat down at the table, unable to maintain his composure now
that he had no immediate task to be about, and buried his face in his hands,
Hamfast hesitated and then tentatively reached out, giving Sam a quick but
understanding pat on his shoulder.
Sam ducked his head in acknowledgement, but kept his face covered, and Hamfast
gazed slowly about the kitchen in the quiet of the early summer’s morning. This
was the one room of Bag End that was familiar to him, from the days he had
assisted Bilbo. It was also the only room of Bag End in which he felt at ease,
for it had been here that he and Bilbo had sat about the table on winter
afternoons, planning out the garden for the spring. It was here that he had
brought Belle, beautiful and young, to introduce to Mr. Baggins, when they had
decided to wed. It was in this welcoming kitchen that he had assisted Belle, and
later his daughters too, in putting up the produce from Mr. Baggins’ garden in
clear glass, the deep reds and greens and purple shimmering in the summer sun as
the jars were proudly lined up in front of the kitchen window. And it was here
that he had brought a very young Sam to introduce him as his new assistant,
proud of his sturdy, obedient son, and pleased with his aptitude and enthusiasm
for gardening.
“I suppose ‘twas as you were the most like me,” he mused, his mind far away now
down the path of his memories, “as it came as that much of a surprise t’me. It’s
not as if I hadn’t seen that Mr. Frodo was all that to you, from the time you
was a wee’un. But I never dreamed as if you wouldn’t find yourself a good lass
t’wed, and have a family of fauntlings of your own. Nay, most likely, it was Mr.
Frodo as surprised me most, that he‘d be feelin as he did about you likewise.
But he has kept his word t’me, about you, and that’s as it should be, then.”
Blinking back unexpected tears, he stared at his son’s bent golden head. “I miss
your mother, at times, more’en I can tell you, lad, but we had our years
together. One of us has t’go before the other, I suppose, and it ain’t fair, no
ways, but that’s the way o’it. But the pair of you, why, you ain’t had any time
at’all. No worries, son, that Mr. Frodo is young and tougher than most think,
and stubborner than Mr. Bilbo ever was. He’ll pull through, lad.”
Hamfast rose, and added, “Send Daisy for me, if there’s summat I can be doin’.
Otherwise, I’ll check on you tomorrow.”
Sam rose too, as Hamfast turned to leave, and quickly rubbing a tear-blotched
face, gave his father a quick but heartfelt hug. “Thank’ee, Da,” he murmured, as
his father cleared his throat in an embarrassed sort of way, but gave Sam a
quick smile before he left.
&&&&&
It was later that morning that Daisy, slightly hesitant, entered the master
bedroom of Bag End, preceded by a gentle knock and a polite moment’s pause. Sam
sat in the chair next to Frodo, who still lay asleep, twisting occasionally
under the bed covers, with a frown on his face and a furrowed brow. He had been
wiping the sweat off of Frodo‘s face, from time to time, and once in a while
murmuring something to him as well. There was nothing in particular that he had
to say, for his mind had gone as flat and empty as could be, and nothing outside
of this room really seemed to matter, but somehow he felt it was important that
Frodo heard his voice and knew that he was beside him. He would have held
Frodo’s hand, if he could, but Frodo was restless, and turned from side to side
too often for that. So all he had were his words, and they had never been his
strength.
“Those tomatoes, now, I’m afraid I’ve gone and planted them that close,
Frodo-love, they’ll naught be havin’ enough room t’breathe, so once they add a
leaf or two more, ah, me dearie, let me dry you off a bit here, well, then, I
suppose I’ll have t’dig them back up,” he had been rambling on to an unconscious
Frodo, but broke off with a grateful smile at Daisy’s entrance.
“Ah, Samwise, why’d you let me sleep the morning away like that?” she scolded
him gently, but was at Frodo’s other side in an instant, studying him carefully,
and placing a practiced hand on his forehead. “Well, he must be burning it out
on his own,” she said cryptically at last, while Sam anxiously watched her
expression. “When he wakes up later, we’ll give him a bit of the sunsword, but
‘tis a matter now of the waiting, I’m afraid.”
“But you do think he’ll be all right,” Sam choked out, unable to hide his
uneasiness at Daisy’s words. “You do, don’t you Daisy?”
Daisy gave him a sympathetic look, but didn’t answer. Instead she rose up, and
laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be makin’ the tonic then, Sam dear.
“Tis up to Mr. Frodo now. But I’d be thinkin’ he knows you’re with him.”
Sam bowed his head as she left, and caught up Frodo’s hand, bringing it to his
cheek. “I’m here with you, me own dear,” he whispered, fighting once again the
tears that would do Frodo no good at all. “An’ I’m trying as best I can not to
be afraid. But it’s that hard, me darling, an’ I can’t see myself without you,
Frodo, no ways. Stay with me, me dearest, stay w’me.”
&&&&&
The sun had passed high overhead, for it had turned out to be a glorious sunny
day, and was beginning its decent into the west, as Sam and Daisy sat patiently
in the room with Frodo. Frodo had stirred up, almost conscious, about noon, and
Daisy had fed him another dose of the sunsword tonic, which he managed to
swallow somehow without entirely waking, and from that point, he had become more
and more quiet, his breathing shallow and light. Daisy sat calmly by the window,
where the light was good, and worked steadily on a small pile of Sam’s work
shirts, patiently plying her darning egg and needle to patch the worn spots.
“I’d best be teachin’ you this, Sam,” she murmured with a slight smile, “as
you’ll have no other body t’be doin’ it for you some day.”
Sam, Frodo’s limp hand now firmly held in both of his, blinked at Daisy’s words,
surfacing out of the circling thoughts in which he had been lost. “Oh, aye, ‘tis
not a bad idea, now,” he gave his head a slight shake, trying to collect
himself. “You’d not be thinkin’ of going anywhere, now, would you?” he asked,
suddenly curious.
Daisy glanced up with an amused smile. “Now where would I be agoin’?” she gave a
short chuckle. “An’ who’d watch the gaffer an’ all?” She shook her head at the
thought, but Sam could see her expression grow somewhat wistful as she gazed
about the comfortable room. “’Tis that pleasant here,” she added, slowly.
“You’ve been lucky and no mistake, you know.”
“Aye, I’ll not be denying that I have,” Sam gave her a slightly puzzled glance.
“But in what way, Daisy? You are not alone, I know.”
Daisy gave him a shrewd glance. “No, I’d be lucky too, in that way. But this
peace you have, Sam, ‘tis lovely, and fortunate you are t’have it.”
Sam slowly looked about himself and understood. He had come to take it for
granted, but his sister was right. She continued, almost unwillingly and ducking
her head down over her darning again, but as if she must get the pent-up words
out, “Pearl will never have a place of her own, and neither will I. Oh, it’s
easy to get away for a bit in all the grand bustle of the Great Smials, and her
sisters let us be as much as they can, and Mr. Pippin is a dear, but it’s not
the same, Sam. No place to live our days peacefully together, for there’s the
gaffer to take into account, and then she’d be the eldest Took lass, and never
able to go her own way the way Mr. Frodo has.”
“Daisy,” murmured Sam, and then fell silent. He had never realized that whatever
difficulties he and Frodo might have faced could have been much greater. “As to
the gaffer, well…” he began again, and then stopped short.
“Ah, now, Sam,” Daisy stood up slowly, stretching her back and laying her
handiwork down. “Don’t pay any mind to me prattling on like this. May is too
flighty a lass to be tied down to the gaffer, and Mari means the best in the
world, but she has her hands fair full with her fauntlings now. And you know
quite well that the gaffer would never come t’live with you and Mr. Frodo no
ways, no matter how he’s gotten used t’the thought of you and him together.”
She walked over to the side of the bed then, and laid a careful hand on Frodo’s
head. “Still too warm,” she murmured thoughtfully, “but mayhap not as much as
before.” Straightening back up again, she unconsciously put her hands on her
hips and continued to regard her patient. Frodo lay quietly in a pool of golden
light from the mid-afternoon sun, his chest barely moving with his shallow
breathing. “He is a fair thing, is he not?” she said musingly, hardly aware that
she spoke. “Those fine Took features, there’s naught like them in the rest of us
ordinary hobbits, is there? Not a wonder in the world you fell in love with
him.”
“He’s as beautiful as summer storm and sunshine together,” Sam replied softly,
tightening his grip unknowingly around Frodo’s hand, “but that would never be
why I fell in love with him.”
Daisy gave him a curious glance, but Sam said no more, bending his head over
Frodo. “I’ll be off then, to fetch a bit more of that sunsword, and check on Da.
I’ll be back by teatime, Sam dear.”
Sam didn’t hear her leave the room.
&&&&&
It was past teatime, though, when Frodo opened his eyes, and blinked
contemplatively. Sam had been lost in his thoughts again, and likely would not
have noticed except for the slight stir Frodo’s hand gave in his own. “Oh,
Frodo,” he gasped, his heart beginning to beat faster with both excitement and
anxiousness as he saw the dark lashes quiver and then flicker open, and Frodo
turned to his head to regard him.
“Hullo, Sam,” he rasped, his voice harsh from disuse. “Have I missed a few
meals?”
“Oh, my dearie, you have at that,” Sam whispered, his face lighting up with a
tender smile, reaching his other hand out to cradle Frodo’s face. “You have
indeed, Frodo-love.”
“”Must be why I feel weaker than Aunt Esme’s tea,” he returned Sam’s smile,
studying him carefully in the late afternoon light. “I think you worried, Sam,
love,” he mentioned quietly, his smile fading somewhat as he studied Sam’s drawn
face. “I don’t remember those nasty circles under your eyes. I thought I told
you not to, my dear.”
“Frodo, oh, Frodo,” Sam gulped, unable to keep the tears of joy back. “Aye, you
told me, t’be sure, but I couldna do it, no ways. Will you forgive your Sam on
that, me dear?”
“Ah, Sam, there’s not a thing in the world that I wouldn’t forgive you, as long
as you look at me like that,” Frodo’s smile deepened, and his other hand slowly
crept up to cover Sam’s. “But I told you not to worry, dearest, for you are well
and truly stuck with me, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, I was that scared, Frodo,” Sam suddenly burst out, unable to keep his tears
under control now that the danger seemed to have been averted. Grasping Frodo’s
hand in both of his own, he bent over it and kissed it fervently. “To lose you,
oh, me darling, t’would be the end of me, no mistake.”
“No, it would not,” Frodo’s voice was suddenly strong, and his expression was
nearly severe as he tightened his grip around Sam‘s hand and pulled him closer.
“It would be horrible, to be sure, and I know you would be very sad, Sam
dearest, but it would not be the end of you. You would manage to pull yourself
together somehow, and think of those who depend on you, and it would not be the
end of you. You are loved by so many, Sam, and it would never be right to hurt
them all. So you would carry on, for I know you, dearest, and you never have
been selfish. But there is no need to worry about any of all that, for as I told
you, I am not planning on giving you up, not at all, so here I am, my dearest
Sam, and the rest was naught but a bad dream.”
The sound of voices had apparently reached the kitchen, though, for it was just
then that Daisy entered, a joyful smile on her face. “Ah, I thought I heard your
voice now, Mr. Frodo,” she cried, “an’ here you are. Now what has our Sam got
you goin’ on about?” she fussed, giving Sam a sharp look as she examined her
patient carefully.
Sam started up slightly guiltily at that rebuke, but kept one of Frodo’s hands
tightly in one of his own, and discreetly tried to wipe his face with the other.
Daisy, in the meanwhile, laid the back of an experienced hand on Frodo’s
forehead, and gave a satisfied nod. Picking up his other hand, she felt his
pulse, and then gave a careful look at his eyes. Pleased with what she saw, she
stepped back with her hands on her hips and surveyed Frodo with a smile. “Looks
like you’ve pulled through, Mr. Frodo, indeed you have,” she declared with a
gratified nod. “Just a day or so more in bed, for you don’t want t’be
backsliding, now, and you’ll be up and yourself again.”
“Thank you very much, Daisy,” Frodo murmured sincerely, trying to push himself
up to more of a sitting position, “I know I have a great deal to thank you for.”
“Ah, no,” she laid a firm hand on his shoulder, “none of that, now. Didn’t I
just tell you t’be takin’ it easy, and here you are, already trying to get up?
You mind me now, Sam, and keep him in bed for a day longer,” she turned to Sam,
giving him a significant look.
“Yes, Daisy,” Sam murmured dutifully, carefully hiding his smile at Frodo’s
expression.
“Well, then, I need t’be off, for I doubt if the gaffer has had a hot meal in
the last couple of days,” she said calmly, picking up the small pile of shirts
on which she had previously been working. “I may as well take these along too,
and don’t you be letting them go as long next time, Sam.”
Sam jumped up at her words, and just as she started to leave the room, caught
her up in a grateful hug. “Ah, Sammie, dear, you’ll be knocking me off my feet,
now,” she laughed, but gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as an unspoken answer.
“Now you mind as I say.” She gave him a stern look as soon as she was set on her
feet again, smoothing out her skirts. “In bed for a day longer, naught but light
meals, and no pipes for a day likewise. No doing that as would tire a body out,
neither,” she added, with a slight smile. “No matter how glad you’d be. I’ll
check on the both of you tomorrow.”
Sam couldn’t help coloring slightly at Daisy’s implication, but quickly agreed.
“Just as you say, Daisy dear,” he assured her with a grin, as they both
studiously ignored an irritated harumph from the patient’s direction.
&&&&&
Sam had just entered the bedroom with a tray of tea and toast, and a cut-up
apple with some honey to dip it into, when he caught Frodo sitting on the edge
of the bed with one leg slung over the side, and a definitely woozy expression
on his thin face. “Here, now, Frodo, didn’t you hear Daisy just then? A day in
bed, and no mistake about that,” he laid the tray down quickly and gave Frodo as
much of a glare as his heart, still singing with joy, could manage.
“Well, the question is definitely moot at this point,” Frodo gasped, swinging
his leg back onto the bed again and, raising his hand to his head, lying back on
the pillows rather suddenly. “If the room does persist in swirling around in
that alarming way, I think I will stay just here until it decides to settle
down.”
“Ah, what would you be expectin’ then?” Sam laughed, sitting on the bed at his
side. “You’ve had naught to eat for days now, and most likely you’re as weak and
floppy as a new-born calf. You can’t just be pretendin’ as it never happened,
Frodo-love. Have at a bit of food first, at least.”
“As always, my dear, you are wisdom itself,” Frodo smiled fondly up at him, but
then gave him a somewhat critical look. “But only if you join me, Sam. I would
not be surprised if you’ve eaten no more than I have.”
“Well, I can’t say I won’t mind havin’ a bite likewise,” Sam had to admit,
pouring out a cup of tea for Frodo and sweetening it with honey precisely to the
degree Frodo liked it best. “Come, my dear, I’m afraid you’ll have to set up a
bit for this. You need t’be havin’ some toast as well, and there’s naught more
vexing than crumbs in a bed.”
“How very true, Sam love,” Frodo agreed, gratefully accepting Sam’s strong arm
behind his back to help him up into a sitting position. “And what I wouldn’t
give for a bath. It’s obvious I must have been lying here for days; I feel
decidedly sticky.”
“No getting out of bed, Frodo-love,” Sam replied firmly, placing the dish with
the apple at Frodo’s side, “but mayhap I can help a bit.”
So it was that as evening settled into darkness out of doors, Sam brought a
basin of warm water to the bed, and a stack of towels. “You’re to be stayin’
here a little longer, an’ don’t you be thinkin’ otherwise,” he smiled at Frodo’s
look of surprise, “but I can be bringin’ the bath to you, dearie.” Carefully, he
stripped Frodo of his nightshirt, hiding his dismay at the way Frodo’s ribs were
evident, but Frodo was not fooled.
“And after all that trouble you’ve taken to make me a proper figure of a
hobbit,” he murmured ruefully, catching Sam’s eye. “I’m afraid you’d best be
starting over, my dear.”
But Sam silently bent his head down, carefully soaping and rinsing, and then
drying Frodo’s limbs one by one, and did not answer. Indeed, there was no need,
for his every touch gave his response to Frodo, and once he was finished, Frodo
unexpectedly threw his arms around Sam’s neck and drawing him quite close,
kissed him tenderly, at great length. “I love you, too, Sam,” he whispered, his
eyes suspiciously bright, as they finally broke apart. “Come to bed, my
treasure.”
And although Sam conscientiously did no more than hold Frodo closely, and kiss
him hungrily, and whisper words of love to him, before long they were both
asleep, Frodo happily wrapped in Sam’s arms, and the candle light and the fire
light burnt low and flickered out all on their own.
&&&&&
Once again, the next morning, there was a polite but insistent rap on the
kitchen door. “Daisy, no doubt,” Sam yawned, reluctantly dragging himself out of
the first solid slumber that he had had in several days, “but she certainly is
early. Ah, well, you’d be needin’ a good breakfast more’en I need more sleep, so
it’s best that I’d be up, anyways.”
“No, Sam, she can surely find her own way in by now,” Frodo mumbled, wrapping
his arms around Sam’s waist, as Sam sat on the side of the bed. He blinked
sleepily, his hair astonishingly tousled, and the side of his cheek still bright
red from where it had rested quite heavily against Sam’s chest all night.
“Now you know there’s not a one of the Gamgees as will do that,” Sam chuckled
affectionately, bending over to plant a kiss right on the tip of Frodo’s
tantalizingly exposed ear tip. “The gaffer taught us t’be polite, each an’ every
one of us, and so she’ll wait out there until I open the door. An’ how do you
feel, this lovely morning, anyway, m’dear?”
Frodo rolled over onto his back and smiled up at Sam. “Famished, Sam-love, and
quite ready to get out of this everlasting bed.”
“Well, the one I can be doin’ something about, but you’re going to have to put
up with the other one more day, dearie. I am takin’ no chances,” Sam smiled
back, but gave him a firm look nevertheless, as he reluctantly extricated
himself from Frodo’s embrace and got up onto his feet.
Much to his astonishment, when he reached the kitchen door, it was not Daisy,
nor any other Gamgee standing there in the cool crisp morning air, but rather
Tom and Jolly Cotton, who both stared back at him equally astonished. “What, are
you just getting up now?” wondered Tom, quickly taking in Sam’s somewhat
haphazard attempt at dressing, and sleepy expression. “An’ where would Mr. Frodo
be? ‘Tis a late start indeed, the both of you’ll be gettin’ and ‘tis most unlike
you, Samwise.”
It took no more than that reminder, though, for the date to suddenly click into
Sam’s still befuddled mind, and his eyes suddenly shot fully open. “Mid-summer’s
Day!” he gasped, in instant alarm. “My stars, if it ain’t Summer Market come!”
“You can’t be telling’ me as you forgot, Samwise,” Jolly scratched his forehead
incredulously. “You an’ Mr. Frodo likewise?”
“Well, he’s been that sick, you know,” Sam gulped, backing up into the kitchen
and collapsing into a fortunately near-by chair. “Summer fever, it was, an’ I
ain’t had a mind to think of naught else.”
“Ah, nay, then!” Jolly exclaimed in concern, following him into the kitchen
without any hesitation and laying a hand on Sam’s shoulder in alarm. “An’ how’d
he be then, Sam, dear?”
“Better, thankee, Jolly,” Sam gave him a small smile of gratitude, “but just
yesterday. Looks as though he’ll be well, soon enough, but there’d be not a hope
of us going t’Summer Mart today.”
“Ah, no, well this’d be that bad a bit of news,” cried Tom in dismay, following
his brother into the smial. “If Mr. Frodo’d not be there t’bargain for our
price, come harvest, we’ll have t’do with what Old Sandyman decides as is right.
And that,” he added, ignoring Jolly’s affronted glare, “would be ill fortune
indeed.”
Sam realized that Tom was speaking the truth of the matter, and also knew that
their raised voices would be provoking Frodo’s curiosity, and if he didn’t
manage to get back to him soon, to inform him of the issue, that Frodo would not
be able to resist the attempt to drag himself out to the kitchen to investigate
it himself. And if this dilemma wasn’t enough, he suddenly noticed, past the two
Cotton brothers, that his father was on the kitchen path, approaching the door
as well.
The question of Summer Mart forgotten for a moment, both Cotton brothers turned
to watch the gaffer, who was obviously feeling uncomfortable about his mission,
pause in the doorway. “Morning, lads,” he spoke gruffly, slightly tipping his
head to them, and then glanced meaningfully at a by-now stunned Sam. “’Tis Daisy
as sent me t’let you know she’ll not be by today. The wee Goodfellow fauntling
would be havin’ the fever now, and she’ll have her hands busy elsewhere,
seemingly, but she bid me t’let you know t’keep a careful eye on Mr. Frodo this
day, an’ let her know straightaway if his fever’d go back up.”
His head by now in a whirl, Sam knew that it was time to take the problem to
Frodo, so without thinking twice on the matter, he directed the three visitors
in rather peremptory tones to start the kitchen fire up, get the kettle to
boiling, and see what could be patched together in the way of breakfast. And
then before the other three hobbits could so much as direct a raised eyebrow at
each other, he vanished.
&&&&&
Frodo, who had looked up with a smile as Sam made a hurried entrance into their
bedroom, let out a startled gasp as he was reminded by Sam, in a distinctly
frazzled fashion, of what the date was. “Oh, by the Lady!” he exclaimed, eyes
opening wide and sitting bolt upright in bed. “Hoy, this blasted room is doing
it again,” he quickly added, immediately closing his eyes and obviously gritting
his teeth. “I suppose I’d better eat something before we go.”
But Sam was having none of that. “You ain’t leaving this room, and that is
that,” he declared in an unusually stern tone, giving Frodo an unmistakably
fed-up glare. “You’d be doing good to make your way t’the kitchen, in that state
you’re in, and there ain’t no way, not a’tall, you’re off to Hobbiton.”
“But Sam,” Frodo winced, slightly opening one cautious eye, “the Summer Mart is
really quite important, you know that. All the Baggins tenants depend on me
doing my share, and I can’t let them down.”
“That may be as that may be,” Sam replied implacably, folding his arms over his
chest in a gesture that Frodo had learned to recognize as indicating that an
absolutely unyielding decision had been made, “but you ain’t agoin’, no ways.”
There was silence in the room for a moment, and noises from the kitchen could be
heard floating down the hall; the confused mutter of the Cotton brothers, the
gruff voice of the gaffer, all apparently engaged in a heated debate, and the
occasional bang of a pan and accompanying smothered curse.
“Well, then,” Frodo at last said calmly, opening both eyes at this point, but
unobtrusively bracing himself on the bed, “I suppose it will have to be you who
goes.”
“Me!” Sam opened his own two hazel eyes very wide at the unexpected thought. “I
need t’be watching you; I can’t be goin’ nowheres. Asides, they’d never pay no
mind to me, I’d not be anyone to be bargaining with.”
“You are very much someone, Sam” Frodo pursued the idea firmly, “You are a
member of a most respectable family, and no one will doubt that you are my
representative. You are shrewd and knowledgeable, and have a great deal of
common sense. There’s no one better suited to take my place, Sam. It must be
you.”
“But, I’ve never bargained for the price o’grain before, Frodo, Old Sandyman
will trick me for sure!” Sam flustered, totally taken aback by this proposal. “
‘Twould be a right fine mess!”
“It will be more of a mess if no one bargains on behalf of the Baggins’ lands,”
Frodo retorted simply. “Tom and Jolly Cotton can lend you a hand, I’m sure, and
you could do no better than to seek out Ned Proudfoot for a bit of help. After
all, what did I know two years ago, when I bargained for the first time?”
“But surely, Mr. Bilbo...” Sam shook his head.
“Bilbo did not teach me anything in this regard.” A quick cloud crossed over
Frodo’s face, but he instantly returned to the matter at hand. “Practicalities
were never very much along Bilbo’s line. I was as green as you, but Ned gave me
some good advice and it all came out right in the end.”
“But you need a body t’keep an eye on you, Frodo,” Sam desperately fell back on
his second line of defense as he tucked his arms behind him and began to
nervously pace in front of the bed. “Daisy said as t’watch if the fever came
back today; you remember as what happened to Goodman Smalls, now.”
That was a compelling argument, since Goodman Smalls’ sudden and unrecoverable
relapse had been a lesson well learned for all in Hobbiton, but Frodo had an
answer to it. “Daisy and I will do fine together, I’m quite sure,” he said
comfortably. “That’s not a problem, Sam.”
“But Daisy ain’t here,” Sam shook his head. “She had t’be off to help the
Goodfellow fauntling. Mari’s going to be busy w’her own fauntlings, and she and
May no doubt have already left. ‘Tis the little’uns’ first year at Summer Mart,
I remember Daisy tellin’ me now. That’d only leave…“ and Frodo could have sworn
that Sam was suddenly hiding a smile, “the gaffer.”
“Oh,” was all Frodo could manage at that thought. Sam’s smile was no longer in
hiding.
“He did say to let him know if there’us summat he could be doing,” Sam’s grin
was definitely broadening at the sight of Frodo suddenly looking remarkably
younger and definitely uncertain.
“Well, if needs must,” Frodo let out a rather shaky breath. But then with a look
of distinct alarm, he qualified his decision, “But not here, not in the bedroom.
I can’t be sitting here with the gaffer here all day, Sam.”
Sam could instantly see the wisdom in this so he nodded his head in agreement.
“’Tis that fine a day out-of-door, m’dear. I think I can be fixin’ you a spot in
the back garden afore we go. But lovely as you look right now, Frodo-love, I’d
suggest some clothes before I help you out to the kitchen,” and the arrangement
was concluded, with both parties more than a trifle apprehensive regarding what
was to come.
&&&&&
Sam was silent indeed on the way to Hobbiton. Certainly, one could ask for a no
more beautiful day than the one that presented itself for the festivities. The
sky was scrubbed fresh and bright blue, the sun was prevented from being
overpowering by the most delightful of brisk breezes, and everything that could
possibly bloom had. The tall pines along the dusty lane bestowed their deep
resiny fragrance to the festival-bound, and the delicate fern that grew between
the noble trees was ready, if desired, to cool the toes of the travelers. But
Sam did not pay any of this abundance any mind at all, and his companions
prudently respected his silence. It wasn’t until they began to near the
outskirts of the village that Jolly placed a hesitant hand on Sam’s shoulder and
murmured, “I’m sure Ned will be kind enough t’help us out, Sam, dear, you
needn’t fret, not at all.”
“Aye, likely enough,” Sam shook his head a bit to collect his thoughts and gave
Jolly a rueful smile. “Truth t’tell, it’s really the gaffer and Frodo that’s got
me worrit. I don’t think the pair o’them have said three sentences to each other
since I came to live at Bag End. Someone will most likely be in a fine stew when
we get back, and I can’t say I’d be able to decide which’un it should be.”
Jolly laughed at that. “Either way, you’ll be hearin’ about it, no mistake,” he
agreed. “So let’s make the best o’this, Sam, an’ I’ll stand you a round at the
Green Dragon before we head back, for a proper fortification, so t’speak.”
“Deal,” Sam promptly agreed, and thrust his hands, business-like, into his
pockets. “Now t’be finding’ Ned.”
&&&&&
Ned was sitting to the side within the main tent, with a mug at hand and feet
propped up on another chair, as was his wont. He was laughing with some of his
friends, as Sam shyly entered the shadowy hub of Summer Mart negotiations, but
had obviously been keeping careful track of the proceedings, for as soon as he
spotted Sam, he raised his pipe in the air and silently motioned Sam on over.
Sam, with great relief, quickly threaded his way through the throng of milling
and murmuring hobbits, and greeted Ned with a nervous nod of his head. Ned
returned the greeting, but cocked a curious eye at the young tween.
“No Mr. Frodo?” he grunted in puzzlement. “ ‘Tis unlike him not to be here as of
yet. And ‘tis unlike you t’be here w’out him,” he added, with a wry smile.
“He sent me, and as he was hoping, maybe, sir, if you wouldn’t mind,” Sam began
to stammer out, shoving his hands into his pockets very deep indeed, and feeling
enormously inexperienced and awkward, “since you were that kind to him, and I’d
not know a blessed thing…”
“Here, now,” Ned rumbled comfortingly, taking pity on Sam’s obvious confusion
and apprehension. Rising up, he laid a solid arm around Sam’s shoulders and led
him away from the others to an unoccupied bench in the far corner of the canvas
tent. “Tell, lad, what’s all this? And where is your Mr. Frodo?”
Grateful for Ned’s encouragement, Sam quickly told him of Frodo’s illness, and
the mission that he had been asked to perform. Ned listened carefully, and
stoked his chin thoughtfully as Sam finished. “Well, I’m that glad to hear that
Frodo’d be doing well now, for that summer fever is a dangerous thing, and no
mistake. And true enough, that someone had best be bargaining for the Baggins’
lands, for you wouldn’t want to leave it up to the likes o’Sandyman’s mercies
come the day you’ve a cartful t’be gotten rid of. But Sam, ‘twill be tricky, you
best be knowing that right now, since there will be those as say you’ve no right
to be bargaining on behalf of Mr. Baggins, not even mentioning the fact you’ve
not come of age as yet.”
Sam’s face fell at Ned’s words and he stared unhappily at the ground. Tom and
Jolly Cotton had bashfully followed Sam and the older hobbit, and Ned gave all
three a rueful glance. “ ‘Tain’t a one of you of age, is there?” he shook his
head. “Where’d your Da be, Tom?”
“His legs was took bad, bit of the rheum, seemingly, so he sent me an’ Jolly,
but we didn’t know…” Tom’s uncertain voice trailed off into silence.
“Well then, we’ll see what can be done,” Ned stood up, squaring his shoulders.
“’Tis almost time for elevenses, so best to see Old Sandyman now. Let’s hope
he’s been working up a fierce appetite and is not in the mood for any
quibbling.”
&&&&&
Frodo stole a glance at Sam’s father, seated in the shade of the old oak. He
himself was well-tucked in on the bench in the shade of the rose arbor,
something Sam had made sure of before he left. Sam had only planted the white
rose, brought back from the Great Smials last Yule, this spring, but the red one
had been growing for three years now, and provided sufficient shade on that
side. Sam had left hurried instructions to his father regarding the necessity of
making sure that Frodo did not miss any meals, and precisely what they were to
consist of, and Hamfast had stolidly nodded several times, and had disregarded
them all. Muttering something about not being much use about a kitchen, he had
managed the tea, found the cheese and a small loaf Daisy had brought, unnoticed,
the previous day, and then took a practiced look about the garden. Frodo really
had no reason to complain, since Hamfast had given the carrots an experienced
eye and dug up three quite likely specimens, had found a bunch of cherries that
had remained undiscovered by either bird or hobbit still on the back branch, and
had claimed the first of the ripe peaches. Frodo was not particularly hungry
anyway, and the meal was more than sufficient. But now he had finished, and was
missing his pipe rather fiercely as he surreptitiously watched Hamfast Gamgee.
Desperately, he tried to think of a possible topic of conversation, since that
duty was obviously up to him, but nothing nor anyone either than Sam came to
mind, and he felt quite certain that, of all topics, that was the one he should
stay clear of above all others. Hamfast Gamgee had, apparently, come to accept
his relationship with Sam, but he was quite sure that he did not want to
discover otherwise.
“The peaches seem to be off to a rather good start this year,” he offered,
awkwardly, as Hamfast gave him a cool glance.
&&&&&
With Ned encouragingly at his back, and Tom and Jolly at his side, Sam found Old
Sandyman just starting to close up the small leather journal that he kept in
which to record the agreed upon prices. There was no doubt that the miller could
be a slippery one at times, and it paid to keep a close eye out on the weight of
the sacks of flour that he sold, but on the other hand, he was quite
conscientious about recording the agreed upon price for each farmer at Summer
Mart, and that, come harvest, was the price he paid, come shortage or glut of
wheat. It was his reliability, not his personality, which kept the folk of
Hobbiton loyal to him, and he the only miller in those parts.
“Ah, there you’d be,” he grunted upon catching sight of Sam. “Late enough, ain’t
you? And where is Himself?”
“Mr. Baggins has been ill, and could not be here,” answered Sam, lapsing into
formality in his nervousness. “He has sent me as his agent, t’be settlin’ a
price for him.”
“Well, now, that’d be highly irregular, wouldn‘t it?” Sandyman exclaimed at
Sam’s answer, immediately torn between dismay at the unusualness of the request,
for he was a hobbit of little imagination, and a sudden hope for a favorable
bargain.
“Now, Nat, there’s got to be someone t’do it, if Frodo can’t, and who better
than Sam Gamgee, I’d say,” came a deep voice from behind Sam.
“I’m thinkin’ about it,” Sandyman retorted, somewhat testily, for he had not
noticed Ned before now. “But how can I be sure that all the tenants’d agree to
havin’ him set a price?”
“It’s that fine with the Cottons,” Tom interposed immediately, “and we’d be the
biggest of the Baggins’ land-holders, so I’m supposing that the others won’t be
minding it much.”
“Sandyman, I cannot believe you are actually considering this,” came another
voice from out of the confused muddle of conversations in the great tent. Its
owner stepped forward then, the expression on his face matching the disdain in
his voice. “Frodo Baggin’s bedmate is hardly a fit representative for the family
property, in addition to the fact that he is barely more than a teen, and not
mature enough in the least for such adult matters.”
“I am Frodo Baggins’ gardener,” Sam growled ominously at that response, “and
that’d be all that is necessary t’be considering at the moment.” Jolly gave his
friend an alarmed glance at the rare note of anger in his voice, but Sam was
finding Lotho Sackville-Baggins’ sneers less and less easy to tolerate.
“Well-spoken, lad,” Ned’s gruff voice cut suddenly into the exchange, and
brought Sandyman back to the question at hand. “Look here, Nat, you know that
Samwise here stands for Frodo. Don’t you be lettin’ those as wouldn’t know dwarf
smut from common smut if it was on the tip of their nose t’be finding fault with
Frodo’s decision. You might be sharing a name with Frodo, Lotho, but everyone
here knows your father sold back his share of the Baggins’ land to Bilbo years
ago. A’thinking that it’d all come back t’him when Bilbo had no heir, I’d wager,
but that turned out t’be a fool move, now, didn’t it? So I’m not seein’ how
you’ve any business in this matter, anyways.”
Lotho flushed angrily at Ned’s all too accurate guess, and glared at both Sam
and Ned, the latter giving a cool puff on his pipe, and seeming not in the least
concerned as to his opinions. “Sandyman, if you settle with this impostor, I’ll
make sure that the other tenants know of it. If Frodo wants to place his
business affairs in the hands of his fancy lad, that’s one thing, but perhaps
the other farmers might not agree. They might be thinking it should be someone
with more experience and acumen, and won’t take kindly to you not feeling
likewise.”
Sam shot a look of alarm at Ned, but Ned gave a slight grin at Lotho’s words,
and quickly winked at Sam, and tapped the side of his cheek lightly with his
pipe, counseling Sam to silence.
And it was well that he did, for Sandyman’s pride suddenly flamed up, as Ned
knew it would, at Lotho’s imprudent accusations. “You seem t’know a lot about
the affairs of business,” he growled at Lotho, who was just realizing that
perhaps he had pushed the old miller a trifle too hard, “for a hobbit as has no
business. You’d be fixing to stick that pimply nose of yours into plenty as is
not your concern, seems t’me. There’s much I don’t like about you, Mr.
Sackville-Baggins, from the way my son seems t’follow you about like a
moon-struck calf, t’the way as you always have it out for Frodo Baggins.
O’course, I guess we all know why, but it seems t’me that when you lose out, you
lose out, and it’s best t’be done with the matter.”
The noise within the tent had suddenly quite disappeared during Sandyman’s
speech, and several of the hobbits who had been on their way out to search for
the food tent, had been frozen in their tracks, delighted to hear someone taking
on Lotho Sackville-Baggins.
Lotho opened his mouth to retort, and then, almost instantly, thought better of
it. Popular opinion, he sensed, was not running in his direction, and he saw no
sign of any supporters for his cause. Indeed, there were some belligerent looks
being cast in his direction, for no matter what the private judgments of those
in the tent might be of Frodo Baggins’ personal affairs, they faded against the
fact that Lotho was fairly universally loathed by those present. “Have it your
way, then, deal with the fauntling,” he sneered and quickly exited, followed by
the grins of most of the listeners.
Through the turmoil of emotions that had been following this exchange, Sam
somehow realized that negotiating with him had become the popular course of
action at this point, and smiled shyly when the old miller turned back to him
with a last huff of disgust at the departed hobbit, and proclaimed, “Well, I’ve
never had no doubts as to dealing with you, Samwise, since you’re a sensible lad
as has his head on right, and no mistake about it. Right then, lads, the three
of you have a seat with me here, and let’s just see as to what can be done.
Proudfoot, you may as well stay too, as I’ll not be having anyone say as I did
not deal fair and proper by Mr. Frodo Baggins.”
It was a happy and proud Sam who headed home, that afternoon, and it had nothing
to do with the lingering effects of the Green Dragon brew.
&&&&&
His cheery disposition began to fade though, just a bit, as he neared Bag End,
for there was no telling in what state he would find the two hobbits he loved
best in all the world. It was drawing late in the afternoon, but on this
mid-summer’s eve, the sun had only begun to sink, and it was as he entered the
kitchen garden he heard the sound of voices from the veranda to the back. Well,
not exactly voices, for in another moment, he realized that what he actually
heard was the sound of laughter, both Frodo’s infectious giggle and his father’s
deep bark. That was a very encouraging sign, so he quickly made his way back to
join them.
Frodo was seated upright on the bench, his face thin and still a little wan, but
his eyes clear and sparkling once again as he shook his head in obvious
disbelief, still laughing. And Hamfast Gamgee was drawing on his pipe with a
broad grin on his weathered face. “Aye, true enough,” he rumbled, before
catching sight of Sam’s incredulous face. “But here’s our Sam-lad, now, and what
news d’you bring, lad?”
It took Sam a moment to collect his wits and remember the errand upon which he
had originally been sent, but he dutifully reported the results and was
gratified to see both Frodo and the gaffer nod their heads in approval. “Well
done, Sam,” Frodo exclaimed warmly. “I’m quite sure I could not have gotten a
better deal myself.”
“A fine deal, t’be sure,” Hamfast agreed, and then stiffly rose from his seat.
“Well, I’ll be off, lads. Daisy’ll be coming home soon, and I want to report
that you’re well on your way t’mendin’, Mr. Frodo, if you’d not mind. She does
take things t’heart so, that lass does, and ‘twill be one less the worry for
her.”
“Indeed I am,” Frodo quickly and graciously agreed, “and I thank you quite
kindly, Mr. Gamgee, for keeping me company. I certainly would hope to see you
visit us often, and there’s always a canister of Old Toby and a cool mug waiting
for you, sir.” He rose, with only a trace of unsteadiness, and gave Hamfast a
friendly bow.
“Thankee, lads, perhaps I will, at that,” the older hobbit agreed, with a quick
hesitant smile, and with a clasp of the astonished Sam’s arm in passing, was
gone.
Sam turned back to Frodo, bewilderment still clear on his face, as Frodo grinned
and quietly said, “I’ll tell you all about it, love, but only over a meal. Your
father is a delight, but he’s quite right, he really does not know his way about
a kitchen, and I am amazingly famished.”
&&&&&
Sam, with great forbearance, did not question Frodo as he took him immediately
to the study, a steadying hand around Frodo’s waist to counteract the still
unmistakable wobbliness about the legs, and left him with strictest instructions
to relax on the settle, while he prepared a quick meal for him. And even after
he brought back some fried taters and cutlets, as well as a fresh loaf and a
crisp salad for them to share, not to mention the balance of a bottle of Old
Winyard, he still allowed Frodo to polish off his meal undisturbed, as he
regaled him with a slightly edited account of the doings at Summer Mart.
“Ah, I knew that Ned would come through for you,” Frodo nodded approvingly, as
Sam finished his account, and polished off the glass of wine. “But, my dear, I
need to confess that this must be an early evening for me, although I hope to be
quite myself tomorrow,” he added reluctantly, with a barely stifled yawn. Sam
had no disinclination to agree to this proposal, and leaving the dishes for the
morrow, something that caused Frodo to slightly raise an eyebrow, wrapped a
loving arm around Frodo once again and accompanied him back to the bedroom.
The night air, which had entered through the partially open window, was once
more cool, and Sam, after lighting the candle and quickly closing the shutters,
started a small fire. Frodo was still smiling as he sat on the edge of the bed,
unbuttoning his shirt. “I suppose you wonder what your father and I found to
chat about,” he teased Sam lightly, drawing it off of his shoulders.
Sam smiled over his shoulder at him as he knelt on the hearth. “I can’t ever
imagine, me dear, so you’d have t’be telling’ me,” he chuckled.
“Bilbo, of course,” Frodo laughed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees,
and his face in his hands. “I never thought, Sam, but your father had so many
tales to tell.”
Sam rose, and walking over to him, reached out to gently stroke the curls off of
Frodo’s forehead. “Mr. Bilbo meant a lot to him,” he commented simply, with a
warm smile.
“So I found,” Frodo reached up and, catching Sam’s hand in his own, brought it
to his mouth and kissed his open palm lightly. “What did he say of you, my
dear?” he looked up with a suddenly sober expression. “Lotho, I mean. It wasn’t
too terribly cruel, was it?”
Sam looked seriously down at him, his face for once unreadable. “He called me
your bedmate,” he finally answered simply. “And I’ve no complaint on that, none
at all.”
“Oh, my Sam,” Frodo whispered, his expression suddenly yearning. “Oh, my
dearest.” Rising from the bed, he slowly and expertly began to disrobe Sam,
pausing every other moment to kiss Sam’s cheek, his irresistible throat, the
tempting tip of his ear, and eventually, he found his mouth. Sam had had a brief
thought of protesting, not being sure if Frodo was recovered enough for this
sort of thing, but any such objections were almost instantly dispelled by
Frodo’s enticing touch, not to mention his growing determination and passion.
The worries and cares of the past few days were melting away under Frodo’s
caresses, and it didn’t take more than the slightest of nudges for Sam to fall
back on their bed, with Frodo at his side.
“My own beautiful Sam,” Frodo murmured, with a tender smile, running a gentle
touch down the side of Sam’s cheek and throat. “You are perfection itself. I
suppose I’ll never have another bedmate, my love, for there could be no
comparing to you.”
And now the hand had strayed lower, and Sam gasped and rose up into Frodo’s
touch. “Nothing in all the world,” he whispered, drawing Frodo over him.
“Nothing and no-one in all the world but you.”
&&&&&
The moon had not risen far, but hung round and gloriously golden over the
horizon as Sam gave a last look out of the window that night. Frodo was asleep
now, his breathing steady and no longer troubled, and his arm was still wrapped
closely about Sam. Sam turned and lightly kissed the dear cheek next to his, and
closed his eyes, feeling the anxiousness of the last few days melt out of his
heart. He was loved, and he was in love, and the world was a wondrous place
indeed.
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