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Chapter Text

Bilbo Baggins was in want of a tea companion. He had thought (foolishly) that adopting a nephew might give him better luck in such endeavours, as Frodo by all accounts enjoyed tea and conversation as much as any hobbit should, though not nearly as much as Bilbo himself. However, today Frodo had missed tea by a mile —by several miles to be more accurate, or several tens of minutes to be even more literal. 

Bilbo was not worried about Frodo, no, he knew precisely where the lad was and what he was doing, which made his unannounced lack of presence ruder still. Bilbo was usually one to encourage the right amount of rudeness and impropriety in those who looked up to him (what was youth without some small scandal, after all?), but he drew the line when Frodo interrupted his tea plans. 

The front door opened just as Bilbo was considering going to retrieve him from outside. 

‘I’d feared you’d lost your way,’ Bilbo said. ‘Though an extraordinary feat that would be, starting from one’s own bedroom and having to take a perilous detour on your way to the kitchen, leaving you all turned around and upside down without your wits about you! Of course, that’s what must have happened to you, as I can see no other explanation for why you’ve been waylaid so.’

‘Oh sure,’ Frodo said, far too accustomed to these quips to bother getting offended. Very little in his comfortable everyday life distressed or vexed him to a serious degree. He began to pour himself some tea, which was nearly cold. Bilbo would let him find this out for himself. ‘I’m absolutely horrid for my lateness, you’re right. A crude mistake it was for me to dare to go outside and say good morning to our lovely gardener. It won’t happen again.’ 

Bilbo laughed. ‘I think you must say good morning to him more often than you do to me. I don’t think I’ve heard one of your good-mornings in nearly a week. I’ll have to have Sam tell me how they go.’

Frodo took a sip of his tea, grimaced slightly at its unideal temperature, and set it down as if he’d come to a completely unrelated natural decision to stop drinking it. 

‘I am sorry, dear uncle,’ Frodo said with a self-satisfied smile, ‘for having friends.’ 

‘Friends! How disgraceful! How are you to be my heir if you are not an estranged hermit?’

‘I’ll manage somehow. If I’m such a dreadful disappointment, you may always replace me with another one of your many relatives, who are all, I expect, pining to inherit your fortune.’ 

‘I do jest, you know, Frodo,’ said Bilbo, remembering his parental role at the usual moment, that is, slightly later than he should have. ‘I wouldn’t have any other hobbit for company, despite your tardiness. And I’d sooner bequeath all my belongings to a dragon than let anyone take your place as heir.’ 

Frodo nodded his own appreciation and began to butter a scone. 

‘So,’ Bilbo continued, ‘having got our usual greetings out of the way, may I inquire as to how Samwise is this morning?’ 

Frodo paused in lifting the scone to his mouth and coloured noticeably. Bilbo thought of a few ways he could poke fun at this, but he again recalled that he was, in theory at least, a mentor figure of sorts, so he kept quiet and pretended that he was not drawing comparisons between the shade of his nephew’s face and the cranberries in the scone he was trying to eat. 

‘I daresay you could ask him yourself,’ Frodo ultimately said. He took a contented bite of the scone. 

‘I daresay I would,’ Bilbo returned, ‘if you had not distracted him enough today.’ 

‘Please! As if you’re one to mind being a distraction!’ 

‘It’s true, I distract wonderfully. Distraction would have been my profession had I not been called upon to be a burglar first. But humour me, lad, and tell me something of your morning.’ 

‘I’m perfectly well, as is Sam,’ said Frodo. ‘He was telling me all sorts of things about plants and dirt and sunlight.’ 

‘Naturally,’ said Bilbo wryly. He had frequently witnessed Sam talking to Frodo about his work in the garden, and though Frodo always appeared absolutely rapt with attention, he never seemed to retain any of the factual information Sam shared with him. It was as though Frodo actively chose to believe that Sam worked with magic rather than trowels and watering cans. 

‘He said something so nice,’ Frodo continued. ‘It was something about soil and how the future of every flower that’s to grow in spring is already written within it. I don’t think he realised how profound it sounded. I told him he should write poetry.’ 

‘Did you? And what did he say to that?’ 

‘He thought I was making a joke,’ Frodo admitted, unhappily. ‘I can’t see why.’ 

‘Not every gardener works for someone as sincere as you, my boy,’ Bilbo reminded him. ‘And I've noticed that, in keeping with the family way, you often find new methods of confusing the very notion of propriety. To me, this means you’ve grown exceptionally well. To Samwise, I’d venture to say this means he finds you exceptionally perplexing.’ 

‘I don’t mean to perplex him,’ Frodo said. ‘And I don’t wish to outrank him either. He’s my friend, Bilbo. My very close one, at that.’

This Bilbo knew well. There were few hobbits that Frodo talked with as much as Sam, and though this had initially seemed to be a relationship formed out of proximity alone, the two of them eventually began to well and truly like each other. Despite their different backgrounds and night-and-day-different families, they were somehow able to hold the liveliest of conversations without an ounce of discontent arising between them. A friendship that others might have grown out of in childhood had persisted after they’d both come of age, though Bilbo figured that he might be the only one who knew how close they really were. Frodo sung Sam’s praises to Bilbo more than to Sam himself, and Sam’s comments about Frodo, while honest and kind, were always dressed in at least five layers of excessive formality. 

‘My most trusted friend,’ Frodo went on. ‘And yet I have to constantly remind him that he’s allowed to talk to me without fear of reprimand. Do you see the unfairness in it?’ Bilbo would have responded that he did, but Frodo did not leave any air in the room for a reply. ‘He won’t even call me my name! He did when we were young, but now it’s all “Mr. Frodo” all the time. And it took months for me to talk him down from “Mr. Baggins!” And he only agreed to that because there are two Mr. Bagginses, so for the sake of practicality, of course…Well, if anyone had deigned to tell me that friendship was so complicated, I’d have never tried my hand at it at all.’ 

‘That’s all well, but if Sam’s such a friend, why don’t you ever invite him in for tea?’ Bilbo challenged, hoping he might be able to relieve Frodo of his frustrations and subsequently gain more tea guests as a result. 

‘And have my prying uncle overhear everything we say to each other?’ Frodo retorted with a slim laugh. ‘I’d rather not.’ 

‘I will simply have to pry at other junctures,’ Bilbo resolved. Frodo laughed harder, not seeming to know how much Bilbo meant it. 

There was unfortunately not much to pry at in the following weeks, though upon taking his daily walks, Bilbo encountered Samwise Gamgee more than once. Three times, in fact, Bilbo observed him sitting under a tree and writing in a book. The third time, Bilbo decided to approach him. He attempted to make as much subtle noise as possible so as to warn Sam to look up, but the young hobbit was so entrenched in his writing that he started anyway when he found that Bilbo was right in front of him. 

‘Mr. Bilbo, sir!’ Sam exclaimed, standing up immediately. ‘I promise I ain’t slackin’ on your time; Mr. Frodo’s sent me home for the day, y’see.’

‘I don’t see, Samwise,’ Bilbo observed with a good-natured chuckle. ‘He may have sent you home, but if my eyes still work the way they should, it doesn’t appear as if you’re there.’ 

‘I’ll go, if you like,’ Sam assured. 

‘No, no, Sam, as you were,’ Bilbo said. ‘I’ve no business ordering you around when you’re relaxing. I was simply wondering what it is you’re writing.’ 

Sam held the book protectively against his chest. ‘Well, Mr. Frodo told me I should try writin’ poetry. I don’t think he was serious, but, well, sir, I’m tryin’ anyway, though I haven’t much profound to say.’

‘We’ve all something to say, Sam, profound or not. And I’d say it’s valiant of you to try your hand at a new form of expression in the face of such uncertainty,’ Bilbo said. ‘As you know, I’ve made up a few little songs in my time. Most are nothing too fanciful, but if you’d ever like me to look over your work, I’d be happy to offer guidance. I know how hard it can be in the beginning.’ 

‘Thank you, sir,’ Sam mumbled. ‘But I don’t think ‘m ready to share with anyone just yet.’ 

‘All right, Sam, I’ll leave you to it then.’ And after an additional bid that Sam enjoy the day’s weather, Bilbo made good on his word. 

A few weeks later, Bilbo was rewarded for his idleness with an optimal opportunity to pry, or simply to do some harmless eavesdropping, or less incriminating still, to only happen to overhear a few snippets of conversation that were occurring in his own home, which he could not naturally be expected to be absent from. He was veritably certain that Frodo did not know he was in the next room, but there was nothing whatsoever that he could do about the things Frodo did or didn’t know. He was tipped off to Frodo and Sam’s entrance into the sitting room by a light murmur of conversation, which he just so happened to clarify for himself by moving a little closer to the nearest doorway. 

‘I should be on my way, Mr. Frodo,’ Sam said. ‘There’s much to be done in the garden, and unless you’d have somethin’ for me to do in here, I should get to makin’ m’self useful.’ 

‘Do you never get tired of usefulness, Sam?’ Bilbo heard Frodo say. 

‘Not…not particularly, sir, no.’ 

‘Sit down why don’t you?’ Frodo’s voice came again. 

After a short debate made up of several broken, yet polite, exchanges of phrase, Bilbo was led to believe that Frodo had convinced Sam that his taking a rest was perhaps not the worst thing in the world. 

‘I’m not sure your family would like this much,’ Sam remarked. ‘You sittin’ here across from me and lookin’ at me like…well, like the way you are.’ 

‘My family!’ Frodo burst into laughter. ‘And to whom do you refer? My uncle Bilbo, who tells me I don’t invite you in nearly enough?’ –Bilbo smiled to hear Frodo’s mention of him– ‘Or maybe you mean my cousin Pippin, who swears that you’re better drinking company than I am?’

‘I mean the parts of your family that ain’t—’

‘Mad?’ Frodo provided eagerly. 

 Sam laughed loudly and immediately apologised. ‘I meant, that ain’t Bagginses or Tooks.’ 

‘Synonyms for madness, as is well known.’ 

‘I don’t think you’re mad, Mr. Frodo.’ 

‘Now that’s your biggest insult to me yet! I take pride in my madness, you know.’ 

If Bilbo hadn’t been so committed to not being discovered as a third party in this conversation, he would’ve walked into the room and shaken Frodo’s hand for being such a delightful successor to his legacy. 

‘Why then, you’re the maddest hobbit I’ve ever met,’ Sam said. ‘You’re cracked through and through.’ 

‘Now you’ve got the idea of how best to appeal to me! I’m endlessly flattered.’ 

‘Glad to have brightened your afternoon,’ said Sam, this reply sounding, in Bilbo’s opinion, much more genuine than anything warranted by Frodo’s playful comments. 

‘See now, isn’t it all right spending time with me?’ Frodo asked. ‘I’m not too horrible, I don’t think.’ 

‘Why, I never said you were, sir!’ 

‘That’s true, I won’t put words in your mouth. You just meant it was improper, doing this.’ 

‘Well, I shouldn’t be in here, Mr. Frodo. I’m not distinguished enough to be a guest of yours, and it ain’t like I live here myself. Rightfully, I should be doin’ somethin’ for you at the moment. Seein’ as I’m bein’ paid for my time. Oh, but I really shouldn’t talk of such things…’

‘I’ll answer each of your arguments with my own,’ Frodo began, unfazed. ‘I think you’re distinguished enough to be my guest, and no one else’s opinion on that subject is of any consequence. Next, your company’s good enough to pay for on its own, I happen to be lucky that you’re also a gardener. And about how you don’t live here, well, would you one day like to?’ 

Bilbo had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing and exposing himself. Frodo was clearly getting leaps and bounds ahead of himself, and Bilbo presumed that this was his own fault for not providing proper instruction about these sorts of things. 

‘Would I like to live at Bag End, sir? I suppose that might be somethin’ to consider,’ said Sam, in perfect, practised ambivalence. He clearly could not parse out whether or not Frodo was joking. 

‘Do you say that from a practical standpoint as my gardener, or an affectionate one as my friend?’ Frodo asked, his voice wavering in composure for the first since the conversation began. 

‘Perhaps somewhat of both,’ said Sam, remaining neutral still. 

‘All right! Pretend you don’t work for me,’ Frodo commanded, seeming a bit frustrated. ‘I’m just some regular hobbit you met on the street, and I ask you if you’d live with me. What’s your reply?’

‘I’d say no.’ 

‘You really would?’ 

‘Well, not to offend, Mr. Frodo, but I’ve just met you on the street. I don’t know who y’are. You could be right crazed for all I know!’

A wave of laughter overcame them both once more, and Bilbo took it as a cue to go tend to some other business knowing that the two of them would be all right in each other’s company. He enjoyed Sam's receptivity towards the ridiculous things Frodo tended to say, and furthermore, his knowledge that they were ridiculous. While others might have (and indeed, had in the past) done nothing but stare at Frodo trying to make sense of his jokes or just nodding and smiling their way out of a prolonged conversation with him, Sam, like Bilbo, saw merit in playing along. 

Frodo might have convinced himself that this was politeness on Sam’s end, and though it was true that the lad was quite polite, Bilbo could tell that his smiles and laughs were always genuine. He had witnessed Sam attempting insincere politeness only a few times – mostly when the Sackville-Bagginses came to visit. The fact of it was, to Bilbo’s delight and Sam’s mortification, that he was not a very good liar. 

*** 

    ‘You’ve a letter,’ Bilbo announced, tossing it onto the table in front of Frodo, who didn’t look up from his book. It was a Saturday, and in the absence of Sam, who didn’t work on Saturdays, he was entrenching himself in Bilbo’s library. Sometimes, Bilbo did find himself wishing his nephew got out more. A little societal fraternising couldn’t do him any harm. At the very least, it would make his books all the more comforting when he got home after hours of being tortured by civil conversations. It was how Bilbo had done it back in his own day. 

    ‘I don’t read letters,’ Frodo said. 

    ‘Too short?’ Bilbo guessed. The book Frodo was reading had to be at least six hundred pages long.

    ‘Too underhanded.’ He folded the book halfway, not committing to closing it quite yet. ‘I can’t remember the last time I got a letter from a relative that wasn’t in some way asking me for money or a marriage to one of their children.’ 

    ‘You can’t be sure it’s from a relative,’ Bilbo countered, even though he’d recognised the seal on the envelope and knew that Frodo wasn’t far off. ‘As a tangential fact, I won’t serve you breakfast unless you open your mail. You’d have to get up and cook your eggs yourself. It’d be dreadful for you.’

    Frodo sighed, set down his book, glanced at the envelope, shook his head, and proceeded to open it in a manner that was agonisingly slow. He read it over as Bilbo made the eggs and toast while feeling proud of himself for his exceptional discipline. 

    ‘A soirée in Buckland?’ Frodo questioned. ‘Why’ve I been invited to this?’ 

    ‘Does it say when it is or who else is attending?’ 

    ‘Next week. And practically anyone even remotely connected to us or the Brandybucks. There’s a whole list. It’s got a subheading that proclaims it’s exclusively for “the finest families in the Shire.”’ Frodo laughed sardonically. ‘Sounds a right bore if you ask me.’ 

    ‘You may have been right, dear boy,’ said Bilbo, handing Frodo his breakfast. 

    ‘About what?’ 

    ‘Seeing as you’ve got an invitation in your hand and I haven’t, it seems someone, or multiple someones, are vying for your attention. You’re not technically a confirmed bachelor yet, so as far as these wealthy hobbits are concerned, your inheritance is still up for grabs.’ He winked mockingly.

    ‘Have I not done enough to prove myself as the completely un-marriageable sort?’ Frodo grumbled. ‘Can it really be such a conspiracy against me?’ 

    ‘More like a conspiracy for you, lad,’ Bilbo corrected. ‘High society seems to believe that you can still be saved from my corrupt and crooked influence.’

    ‘Luckily for us both, they’re wrong,’ said Frodo. He crumpled up the paper in his hand self-satisfactorily.  

    Bilbo waited until Frodo had taken a large bite of his toast to express his current thoughts on the matter. 

    ‘You know, I might actually recommend that you attend this event.’ 

    ‘Arh you out uh your mine?!’ exclaimed Frodo, through a lot of toast. He took a moment to swallow, seethe, and try again. ‘Don’t answer that. I know you are. I just didn’t know you wanted to see me married off just as badly as everyone else.’

    ‘That’s not it, Frodo, of course not,’ Bilbo insisted patiently. ‘You know I want little else than for you to be happy. I only suggest you go because I think you could stand to pay a bit more attention to the relatives you do approve of. Your cousins Meriadoc and Peregrin will certainly be there, will they not?’ 

‘Sure, they will,’ Frodo relented.    

    ‘Excellent, you get along with them?’

    ‘The two of them do appreciate good trouble-causing. So yes,’ Frodo smiled in a way that was slightly mischievous. He could never be absolutely mischievous if you asked Bilbo, because he was, at heart, too sweet for it. 

‘And while you’re there causing trouble, if you’re looking to diminish your future postal intake, you might also happen to communicate in some way to the guests of this party that you’re in no position to share your fortune with any of them. Only if that is true of you, of course. I wouldn’t pressure you either way.’

‘All right,’ said Frodo, picking up his book again in a clear signal that he was done talking on this matter. ‘I’ll go. But you must promise to bear my neverending complaints and gripes both before and after.’

‘Don’t I always?’ 

Bilbo had him there. 

‘Hm,’ was Frodo’s only reply.

*** 

    ‘It’s not that I’m ungrateful,’ Frodo reasoned. 

    ‘No, sir,’ answered Sam distractedly. He was planting autumn bulbs and trying to get the spacing just right. He felt he might get it even more wrong now that Frodo had come out to watch him. Or not specifically to watch him, but to discuss some personal things while Sam continued to work, which subsequently led Sam to feel like he was being watched –a feeling that led to several other feelings. Nervousness, for one example. 

‘I just object to social events that take place for nefarious reasons,’ Frodo continued. He was laying in the dirt. Sam had thought of asking him not to do that, not because he was in the way, but because if someone happened to walk by, they’d see him lounging around with his gardener and start to think all sorts of odd things about him. However, Sam was of course not going to say anything whatsoever, because it wasn’t his place to tell Frodo what to do, because Frodo wouldn’t pay any mind even if it were, and because this was the type of issue that came more from the Gaffer’s voice echoing in Sam’s head and less from Sam’s actually minding what was happening. 

    ‘Do y’not like dancin’ and such?’ 

    ‘No, I do rather like it. I’m quite all right at dancing. There are just very few individuals attending this event that I’d like to dance with,’ Frodo clarified. ‘I can’t have a proper dance if I’m not fond of my partner.’ 

    ‘Well, even so, there’ll be some good food there I expect,’ said Sam, changing the topic so as to stop himself from picturing what a dance between the two of them might be like.

    ‘That’ll probably be the highlight of it. The one thing no hobbit can mess up at a party is the food, even if they are the most stuck-up and self-righteous sort of hosts.’

    ‘You’re a tough guest to please, Mr. Frodo,’ Sam laughed. 

    ‘I’m not all that bad!’ Frodo said defensively. ‘I hope you don’t think poorly of me for saying all these cynical things. I’m just not keen on those who pretend themselves superior to everyone else. If you threw a party, Sam, I’d gladly come and I’m positive I’d enjoy myself. But you see, the difference is, you’re not trying to marry me for my family’s wealth.’

    ‘Um,’ said Sam. ‘Well, no, sir.’

    ‘My! I’m sorry, Sam.’ Frodo started to laugh and shake his head. ‘I’m not a very good friend am I? Coming out and disturbing you with my ranting and raving without even asking if you were free to talk! I admit I did get carried away, and you look quite busy.’ He sat up and brushed dirt off his sleeves. ‘Can I help you as a way of making up for it?’ 

    ‘Um,’ said Sam again, feeling even more flustered now that Frodo had mistaken his initial flustery for frustration and was trying to earn forgiveness for a wrong he hadn’t committed. ‘No, you’re all right, sir,’ he insisted. ‘You’re a better friend to me than any. Y’dont have to do my job for me on top of that.’

    ‘Yes, right, of course,’ said Frodo, sounding a bit disappointed. He stood slowly while Sam remained kneeling in the soil. ‘I shall leave you well alone, then.’ 

 Sam wanted to say something like sir, you don’t have to go, your company is greater assistance to me than anything else could be , but he was fearful that it would sound desperate to an unprovoked capacity. He considered more neutral alternatives such as a pleasure talking with you, or even just good day, Mr. Frodo , said with a cheery inflection so as to not leave any sense of stiffness in their conversation, but by the time he had both determined what to say and worked up the courage to say it, Frodo had already gone inside and closed the door behind him. 

    Sam was left to plant his bulbs and think longingly about what his friendship with Frodo would be like if it was not so often confined within the fences of the garden.

***

    The time leading up to Frodo’s trip to Buckland passed far more rapidly than he’d hoped it would, and before he knew it, he was sitting in front of a mirror looking at his own dismal face and wondering whether or not he’d like to admit to himself that he didn’t ever really know how to do his hair on formal occasions. 

    He was to take a small carriage to Brandy Hall in a few hours so that he would arrive in the evening, and then he would stay with his cousins for three days before returning. 

The second part wouldn’t be so intolerable. Frodo liked the Brandybucks themselves; they were the family members he was closest to after Bilbo, and they tended not to mind Frodo conducting himself as he pleased, as long as he didn’t forgo basic manners (which he never did – he’d been born into gentry after all, despite his commitment to having a veritably strange personality and a fickle reputation). 

He had a suspicion that he was a favoured relative among them because he could consistently be used as a point of comparison for his younger cousin Merry, much to the annoyance of Merry himself, who claimed that he was just as mature as Frodo, if not even more so. 

Frodo could’ve gotten himself excited to see the Brandybucks, had it not been for the party that he was so resentfully attending. He hadn’t been to many soirées since he’d come to live with Bilbo. He’d been to countless festivals of course, which were always lively and full of good old-fashioned eating, drinking, and dancing. Frodo could fit in at a festival. But any gathering that had a guest-list mystified him. Where was the fun in having a party where everyone spent the entirety of the evening trying to prove they had more money, land, and social standing than everyone else? That was, at least, what he imagined high society was. He’d been apart from it long enough to not have any concrete guesses. 

    There was also the giant, looming fact that going to this event would make him seem eligible, even if he was attending for the purpose of disproving this very assumption. Frodo knew that no one could force him into a marriage, and that him being married or unmarried had no effect on his being in Bilbo’s good favour. Nevertheless, the idea that there were those out there who, without ever having met or gotten to know him, viewed him as something valuable they could obtain was a bit horrifying and a good deal demeaning.  

    He ran a brush through his hair a few times, which, if anything, made it look messier. 

A knock sounded on the doorframe. 

‘Hello, Sam,’ said Frodo brightly. 

‘Don’t you look nice,’ Sam remarked. He was carrying a tray with a ceramic mug, which he set down in front of Frodo. ‘For the occasion, sir, I mean.’ 

‘Thank you, Sam,’ replied Frodo, truly flattered. For some reason, Sam’s opinion seemed worth more than that of any gentlehobbit Frodo was likely to meet that evening.     ‘What’s this?’ he asked, peering into the mug. 

‘Lemon water,’ Sam said. ‘I thought you might be wantin’ it for your nerves.’

Frodo lifted the mug to his face, letting the delightful-smelling steam warm his skin. It had an instant calming effect. He sipped it. It tasted sweeter than he’d expected, which led to a secret suspicion that Sam had also added in a dash of honey.  

‘That’s lovely,’ Frodo admired. ‘My nerves are now well equipped, and I’m farther into your debt than ever.’ 

‘It’s my pleasure, Mr. Frodo.’

Frodo glanced at his pocketwatch. ‘I have some time left before I actually need to depart. Would you mind staying to keep me company for a while? I’ve got to take my mind off my predicament somehow, else I’ll worry myself into nothingness.’

Sam took a breath to respond, but Frodo interrupted before he could get a single word in. 

‘You can say no, but if you say you shouldn’t talk with me outside the garden solely because it’s not proper, I’ll sack you on the spot, Sam Gamgee.’ 

Frodo knew he probably shouldn’t make jokes regarding the status of Sam’s job, but Sam needed to learn some way or another that Frodo would never actually want to get rid of him, no matter what he said or did. Besides, Frodo didn’t really have the authority to do anything, unless he wanted to leave Bilbo without a gardener and simultaneously ruin the relationship between the Bagginses and the Gamgees that had been going strong for multiple generations. Sam was unequivocally family, and he’d have to try very hard to excommunicate himself from Bag End.

‘I was gonna say sure, Mr. Frodo,’ Sam informed him, with a smirk. 

***

    Bilbo had been in town running some errands that morning, but he’d wanted to get home before Frodo left in case his nephew required any last minute advice or reassurance. However, when he stepped into the front entrance, the sounds of laughter echoing through the hall led him to believe that someone had gotten to the task before him. 

    He followed the noise to the parlour, where he saw a heartwarmingly comedic scene playing out before him. 

    ‘See, you’re really all right!’ Frodo was saying. His right hand was clasped in Sam’s, his left arm around the other’s waist, ostensibly leading him in a dance. 

‘Ain’t no way it’s supposed to be this fast!’ Sam exclaimed, teasing, as Frodo spun the two of them around the room a bit less than gracefully. He appeared to be clinging to Frodo’s shoulder for dear life. He was also laughing so hard that there were tears in his eyes. ‘Sir, I’m gonna trip over you if you don’t slow down!’

‘That’s defeatist language, and I won’t stand for it!’

Sam, at this moment, had turned enough to face the entrance of the room, and upon making wide eye contact with Bilbo, released his hold on Frodo. Not expecting a sudden stop, Frodo stumbled and was sent careening onto the sofa, where he half-sat (half-sprawled) looking bewildered until he too noticed Bilbo’s presence and then proceeded to give him the acknowledgement of a red-faced wave. 

‘Entertaining yourselves, lads?’ asked Bilbo good-naturedly, not being able to resist poking a little fun on this occasion. 

‘Good afternoon, sir,’ said Sam. He ran a hand through his hair in a self-conscious effort to tidy it.

    ‘And to you, Sam,’ answered Bilbo fondly. ‘I hate to take your dance partner from you, but I believe he’s shortly wanted elsewhere.’ Frodo aimed a pointed scowl at him.

‘Don’t shoot the messenger, dear boy! I’ve only seen the carriage that’s to pick you up coming down the lane a moment ago, and the driver should now be waiting patiently for you outside. We mustn't keep him, else the Brandybucks might rescind some of their generosity towards you.’

    ‘Right,’ said Frodo. He stood and straightened his vest as bitterly as one possibly could. ‘I’m off to keep my word, or whatever noble nonsense.’ 

    After gathering the luggage he would need for his stay in Buckland, he gave Bilbo a side hug and kissed his cheek. He then looked at Sam with an expression that implied he wanted to repeat the gesture with him, if not intensify it, but he finally settled for shaking his gardener’s hand and saying ‘Don’t become a bore while I’m gone, for I shall have lots of bizarre things to tell you when I get back, and it’d be a pity if you gained sense in my absence.’ 

    ‘Wouldn’t dream of it, sir,’ responded Sam. 

    ‘For the sake of all that is good, Frodo, you’re only leaving for three days,’ Bilbo reminded. 

    ‘And I will dearly miss you, uncle.’ 

    ‘Yes, yes,’ said Bilbo, practically herding Frodo out the door. ‘I’ll miss you as well, but you best get gone now so I can start on my missing you as scheduled.’ 

    ‘I shall dream of our reunion!’ shouted Frodo as he made his way down the hill. In an instant, Bilbo and Sam were watching the carriage drive into the distance. 

    ‘I do hope he doesn’t make too much trouble for you,’ Bilbo commented offhandedly. ‘He can be cumbersome at times, despite his loving nature.’ 

    ‘Oh no, sir,’ Sam insisted. He stared off at the spot on the horizon where the carriage was disappearing. ‘He’s never too much for me.’ 

Chapter Text

Frodo had barely an hour to get himself settled into the room that had been set aside for him at Brandy Hall before a hobbit he’d never met came to retrieve him, directing him formally to the specific chamber in which the party was taking place, and leaving before Frodo could ask any questions.

He stood in front of an ornate door, guarded by a lad wearing gloves and a lass holding a stack of parchment. 

‘Your name, sir?’ she asked him. 

‘I’m Frodo,’ he said, thinking she was about to introduce herself in turn. 

‘Frodo…?’ she trailed, implying that she needed a surname as well. 

‘Um, Baggins. Frodo Baggins.’ 

She flipped through her sheets of parchment until her eyes landed on something that must have satisfied her, because she then said, ‘Yes, of course, sir,’ and nodded to the lad with the gloves. He pulled open the door and ushered Frodo into a large room where crowds of finely dressed hobbits were gathered. 

Most were talking in smaller groups or wandering about in search of friends, though some were exchanging polite dances to fiddle and piano music. Many were drinking from smallish crystal glasses, though no one appeared intoxicated, as that certainly would’ve been against the unspoken code of conduct. Though chatter was abundant, it was all kept to a respectable volume. It was not Frodo’s idea of an exciting atmosphere, though he figured that it might be possible for him to traverse the room a few times and make some kind remarks to the individuals he did recognise before calling it an early night and leaving relatively unnoticed. 

Or that’s what he’d assumed, before the lass with the papers announced his identity to the entire room. 

‘The distinguished Mr. Frodo Baggins of Bag End!’ she said in a controlled shout. ‘Nephew and heir to the honourable Mr. Bilbo Baggins!’ 

Though embarrassed to his core, Frodo took some comfort in knowing that, when he relayed this story later, Bilbo would get a good laugh out of being introduced as ‘The honourable Mr. Bilbo Baggins,’ despite being disliked by at least half the guests in attendance and not even having been invited to the event himself. He tried to use this thought as a weapon against the discomfort he felt when every eye in the room turned to him, some more outwardly fascinated than they had any right to be. 

He heard whispers from those standing immediately adjacent to him, and though he tried not to hear them, he unfortunately caught the general idea of what they were saying anyway. Frodo made his way through the crowd, stiff and awkward. He didn’t know who to seek out and who to avoid, so he kept his eyes down, sighing inwardly (and perhaps a little outwardly as well), thinking that if he had just a little more confidence, he’d say something like, yes isn’t it quite tragic that my parents are dead, what a good observation! And while you’re at it, yes I am just as wayward as my uncle before me! And you’ve got it right, I’m unattached, but don’t hold your breath!  

‘The reputable Mr. Peregrin Took of Tuckborough, son of the great Mr. Paladin Took, future Thain of the Shire!’ 

Frodo never thought he’d be so happy to hear such words. 

He turned back towards the entrance just in time to hear Pippin yell ‘Frodo!’ with absolutely no regard for the established volume level of the room. His cousin pushed through a group of incredulous hobbits in order to ambush him with a hug, which Frodo was all too glad to reciprocate. 

The muttering around them shifted into a conversation on the topic of the general unruliness of Bagginses and Tooks, and then it steadily returned to whatever status quo it had existed at prior to Frodo’s arrival. 

‘Pippin, if we were in a pub, I’d buy you a beer on the spot,’ Frodo told him, endlessly grateful for his rescue.

‘Ah, but I do wish we were! We’d have a right night of it, me and Merry and you and Sam! We’ve got to do something like that soon – something just for friends and for fun, awful extended family out of the picture, you know?’ He said this last part with the full intention of being heard, which earned him an indignant ‘Keep your voice down, Peregrin!’ from an older hobbit nearby, who Frodo recognised as a shared aunt of theirs. 

‘Come on then,’ said Pippin, ignoring the reprimand. ‘Let’s find something to drink.’ 

Under the care of his cousin, who had clearly been forced to attend many an aristocratic social event due to the high standing of his father, Frodo relaxed a bit more. It also helped that Pippin immediately handed him two wine glasses upon locating the drinks, advising that Frodo quickly down the first one while no one was looking and then slowly sip on the second over the course of the next hour. 

‘Aren’t you still a bit young to be drinking so much at every gathering you attend?’ Frodo asked cautiously, having finished his first glass of wine. 

‘Oh, it’s not my usual strategy,’ Pippin explained. He took the empty glass from Frodo and set it aside on a serving tray that happened to pass by. ‘You just seemed like you needed a bit of extra assistance tonight.’ 

‘You’re right about that,’ Frodo admitted, glancing around the room. There were still a fair number of eyes trained on him, most of them belonging to curious-looking lasses who seemed to be calculating whether or not it would be worth it to approach him while he was mid-conversation with Pippin. 

    ‘Hello, gents!’ said a cheerful voice. Merry Brandybuck broke in between Frodo and Pippin, slinging one arm around each of them. Frodo’s relief doubled, as with two friends around, no stranger would dare try pulling him away from his company. 

 ‘Good to see you, Merry,’ Frodo greeted. 

‘Surprising to see you, Frodo! No one really knew if you’d come, but I’m glad you have! You must’ve finally decided to come out into society to find yourself a suitable companion, eh?’ 

‘I’m afraid you couldn’t be more wrong.’ 

‘Well, sooner or later you’ve got to start putting in the work! You’re getting a bit on the older side of it, you know.’ 

‘I’ve said before, I don’t plan on marrying at all,’ said Frodo, exasperated, not having expected this lecture from Merry of all people. 

    ‘Oh, that means nothing! Everyone says they don’t want to marry at some point or other, but it’s just that they haven’t met the hobbit they fancy, or else haven’t realised they have. Besides, it is a truth universally acknowledged that–’ 

    ‘Don’t quote aphorisms at me,’ interrupted Frodo unhappily. 

    ‘He’s intolerable, isn’t he?’ Pippin said. ‘Merry thinks himself a matchmaker of late.’ 

    ‘I do more than think!’ Merry proclaimed. To Frodo, ‘I’ve set up two of my cousins with excellent partners, and I intend to get through the whole Took side eventually.’ Pippin rolled his eyes at this. ‘But you, Frodo, are my first priority. You’re in good hands with me, I assure you. I’m not some rich old widow who wants her daughter to marry into a higher rank, I truly want happiness for you and I’m determined to get it.’

    ‘I’m very easy to please,’ Frodo promised, laying the sarcasm on thick. ‘If you just left me well alone, you’d make me the happiest in the world.’

    ‘Don’t be that way,’ Merry pleaded. ‘I’ve just got one introduction I’d like to make, all right? Will you let me try?’ 

    Frodo contemplated his ever-worsening dilemma. He supposed it might be easier to let Merry attempt to set him up than argue with him. When he saw how horrible his match inevitably ended up being, he might lay off for good. He gave Merry a reluctant ‘Fine.’ 

    ‘Thanks for being a sport!’ Merry said. ‘I’ll just go get her now!’ He rushed off into the crowd. 

    ‘Ah, he’s not even remotely close,’ Pippin chuckled. ‘You’re not much for lasses, are you, Frodo?’ 

    ‘I– well, no. I’m not.’ Frodo almost tacked on an additional statement of I’m not much for anyone , but something stopped him. He felt as though this, for whatever reason, would be a lie.

 For another (equally unexplainable) reason, he suddenly recalled his amusing dance with Sam from earlier in the day. He’d been pleased by the sensation of Sam’s work-hardened palm pressing against his own. He imagined experiencing that feeling again and shivered at the thought, sparing a cursory glance at his hand, as if there would now be some mark upon it. To Frodo’s rational mind, his wish to be with Sam in this very moment was an inarguable fact; however, to the part of him that thought it was really best not to delve into any dangerously unprecedented territory at this time, he viewed this desire as a simple need to talk with a loyal friend who would sympathise with his difficulties in the current situation.

 Frodo concluded that his mental voyage from Pippin’s question to the topic of Samwise Gamgee was nothing but one tangential thought branching into another, a result of his ongoing nervousness and a need to retreat towards the familiar. 

‘Maybe I shouldn’t have had you drink that wine so fast,’ Pippin observed. ‘Your face has gone redder than one of Sam’s prized tomatoes.’ 

    ‘Curses of a fair complexion,’ Frodo responded weakly.  

    Fortunately, Merry returned at that moment, accompanied by a lass who looked at Frodo severely and miserably. 

    ‘I’ll do the honours,’ Merry said, with far too much excitement. ‘Calla Sackville, this is Frodo Baggins. Frodo, Calla.’ 

Seeing the look that Frodo, Pippin, and Calla all gave him, Merry expounded. ‘Now, I know what you’re thinking, but hear me out. Frodo and Calla are both considered odd outcasts in their families, they both like spending time alone with their studies, they both look as though they’d rather be anywhere but here, and,’ – this next part was directly addressed to Frodo and Calla themselves– ‘despite what you’re assuming about each other right now, you both detest the Sackville-Bagginses.’ He folded his arms proudly. ‘Oh! And as an added plus, you are in no way blood-related! I’ve consulted several charts.’

‘Excellent work, Merry,’ Pippin mockingly congratulated. 

‘Thank you, thank you,’ Merry said, taking a few bows. ‘Now, we’ll leave you to get to know each other.’ He took Pippin’s arm and dragged him towards a food table. Pippin gave Frodo an apologetic look. 

Frodo turned his attention to Calla, preparing to have to tell her that he was not in any way in want of a partner, despite the fact that she was reasonably attractive (having a reddish-gold tint to her hair that appealed to him from an aesthetic sense) and seemed to have a certain kindness in her eyes that made turning her down feel all the more insensitive. 

‘Look,’ she said, before Frodo had the chance to speak up. ‘I know you’re a friend of Merry’s, so I’m willing to converse with you. But I don’t want to be married. To you or anyone. Ever. I’m just not interested in any of that. It isn’t personal. I know it’s strange for a lass to be completely apathetic towards romance, but–’ 

‘Not at all!’ Frodo broke in. ‘You have my word, I’m not looking for anyone either! At least, not here.’ He wasn’t sure what that last part meant, nor why he’d felt the need to add it.  

Calla cracked a smile. ‘Merry really hasn’t got a clue then, has he?’ 

‘No,’ said Frodo, laughing. ‘No, he really hasn’t. Or else it’s an issue of him knowing very well, and us really being too similar.’ 

‘For the sake of getting him off our backs tonight –and my mother off mine specifically, though I won’t get into that– I say we should stay by each other and pretend to have a tolerable time.’ 

‘An agreeable proposal, Miss Sackville,’ Frodo affirmed, hardly able to believe this stroke of luck. 

‘Then it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Baggins,’ said Calla, parodying a curtsey. 

The two of them quickly became co-conspirators, walking the length of the room together so that everyone could see them in each other’s company. Calla, who turned out to be of amiable disposition when she was not being forced into things against her will, had to stifle a laugh several times when relatives of hers or Frodo’s audibly gasped at the sight of them. 

Frodo suggested that they dance a few rounds as a pair, since he really did like dancing, and she agreed on the basis that it would sell the illusion. She proved a skilled partner, though not nearly (as a voice in the back of Frodo’s head kept insisting) as delightful as Sam. 

When they got tired, they found a table where they could sit and talk. 

    ‘Thank you for taking part in this charade with me,’ Calla said. ‘I would’ve had to spend all night refusing lads otherwise. Not that I think I’m in high demand or anything.’ She corrected herself with a humble blush. ‘My mother just works herself to death trying to marry me off. It’s a bit of a shame, since I’ll never please her. But I can hardly feel bad for who I am.’ 

    ‘You’ve an admirable character, to be sure,’ complimented Frodo, meaning it. He wasn’t positive he’d be confident in himself at all if Bilbo wasn’t so supportive of his every decision. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to live with someone who thought they knew your own life better than you did.

    ‘Who’s forcing you to be here?’ Calla wondered. ‘Your uncle?’ 

    ‘No, thankfully. I mean, he encouraged me to come, yes, but he’s a confirmed bachelor himself, so he doesn’t so much as hint that I should marry. It’d be hypocritical, to say the least.’ 

    ‘Oh, I’d give anything to be in your place!’ 

    ‘It’s not all that easy,’ Frodo admitted. ‘Like Merry told you, I don’t quite fit in with most of my family. Many of them barely know me, but they still assume I’ve got to share my fortune with someone eventually, and that’s all they see me as. An uncertainty. Something to be claimed.’ 

    ‘So what if you keep them waiting forever?’ Calla shrugged. ‘There are worse things than not finding a wife.’  

    ‘Indeed, I’m very happy with the family I have already,’ Frodo told her. ‘I sometimes feel I don’t need anyone but my uncle and my–’ Frodo was going to say gardener but then he realised that Calla didn’t know Sam, and therefore, Frodo could introduce him any way he pleased. ‘–my best friend.’

    ‘What’s your best friend like?’ she asked, with real interest.

    ‘He’s…’ Frodo hardly knew where to begin. ‘He knows me. Unlike anyone else does. I keep wishing he were here; he always lifts my spirits when he’s around. But it’s complicated with us sometimes. It’s like there’s a wall between him and I. I’m certain he likes me well enough, and I try to tell him I appreciate him as much as I can, but I’m rarely ever sure if we’ve got the same ideas about each other.’

    ‘Ah.’ Calla nodded sagely. ‘That sort of friend.’ 

    ‘Yes, that sort of friend.’ 

    (To the knowledge of exactly neither of them, Frodo Baggins and Calla Sackville were talking on two completely separate subjects. By that sort of friend , Frodo meant, having assumed Calla to mean the same, the sort of friend who works for you and is always being far too courteous towards you to the extent where you never know if your friendship means anything to him after he goes home for the day . And by that sort of friend , Calla had originally meant the sort of friend whose lips you stare at a little longer than you’ve any right to. She was, of course, correct in her own way, though Frodo had not yet arrived at the lip-staring stage. It would take a lot to override his belief in the importance of direct eye contact during conversation.) 

    ‘And how are you two faring?’ asked the suggestive voice of Merry, who had appeared, ostensibly, from nowhere.

    ‘We’ve become very good friends, actually,’ said Calla. 

    ‘In fact, we bonded over our dislike of you,’ Frodo joked. 

    ‘Oh, how hilarious,’ Merry said, his face falling a bit. ‘I don’t know if I can stand the cynicism of the two of you in the same room, now that I think on it. I may have created something I regret.’ 

‘Rejoice then, Merry,’ Frodo said, ‘in knowing that Miss Sackville and I will likely do no more than correspond by letter in the future. We get on well, but perhaps not in the way you intended.’ 

‘Yes,’ he sighed, unsurprised, ‘I’ve been informed that I may have headed in the wrong direction with regards to your preferences. But never fear, Frodo. Though you provide me a challenge, I vow to find you someone else at our next shared gathering!’

‘I’m sorry,’ Calla told Frodo earnestly, seeing him pale at the horrific thought of being introduced as a suitor to more strangers. 

(She considered that she ought to spare him by hinting to Merry that there was already someone Frodo had his eye on, as she figured he might be the last to realise it amidst the delusion his matchmaker role was instilling in him. What she didn’t know was that Merry actually had a good chance at beating Frodo himself to the act of realisation.)

‘I’m willing to concede my loss for this evening, though,’ Merry said hurriedly, seeing the look on Frodo’s face. ‘Why don’t both of you come help Pippin and I eat a cake we’ve taken from the dessert table?’ 

‘A whole cake?’ Calla asked, her eyes brightening. 

‘Yes, it’s strawberry,’ Merry informed. ‘My mother told me not to take it because there’s no way Pippin and I could finish it ourselves. I’m determined to prove it won’t go to waste.’ 

‘I can certainly assist,’ she promised. 

Frodo followed along with them and did his best to eat a fourth of the cake, though he kept wishing there was some way he could save a slice of it for Sam, who liked strawberry cakes more than himself and would surely have enjoyed this one a great deal. However, considering he wouldn’t be travelling back home for another few days, there was no way he could make a gift of it without it going bad. This guilted Frodo, since it just went to prove how difficult it was for him to share his experiences with Sam when they came from such different stock. 

It also alarmed him that he kept thinking of Sam so frequently even after finding friends to fall in with at the soirée. He was no longer lonely, and he was able to have a bit of unexpected fun with his cousins and Calla, but he seemed always to be in want of Sam’s presence. He could no longer chalk it up to homesickness, though he wasn’t yet ready to write off the possibility that he’d simply gotten too used to seeing Sam on a reliable basis for almost two decades of his life and was now suffering mostly from an interruption of habit. 

As Frodo lay in bed that night, he further ruminated upon these feelings, coming to two contradictory conclusions. First, that missing one’s gardener with this particular sort of heartache was a symptom of a deeply unsocial lifestyle that should be subject to immediate alteration. But second, that what he’d told Calla was the truth: Sam was his best friend, and perhaps thinking so much about a best friend was not so condemnable after all. 

***

    Without Frodo around, gardening at Bag End had been significantly less exciting in the past couple of days. Sam would never say this to Bilbo, who had invited him in for tea twice and had fed him and talked with him until he felt truly welcome, but he did miss the atmosphere of having Frodo around. Frodo was far more thrillingly unpredictable, and also, as Sam had recently been able to admit to himself in his free time, quite easy on the eyes. 

It could not be said that Sam lacked resourcefulness, however, and so he had taken the absence of his friend and employer as an opportunity to work on a few of the poems he was attempting to write during his breaks in the garden. The blank book he had been using was nearly half-full by now, though Sam was positive that most of what was written in it could be labelled, by professionals and scholars alike, as utter nonsense. 

Sam did take some joy in it though, and he was starting to understand the concept of poetry more than ever. Poetry was a method of expressing secret things in convoluted ways, sort of like a code, where only the author could ever truly see all the meanings behind every word he had written. It was a coward’s confession. 

When he’d read poems with Frodo and Bilbo in the past, he’d always wondered why poets didn’t just come out and say what they meant to say without all the confusing metaphors and rhyme schemes. Frodo had told him once, well, it’s more about the art of getting there . Sam got that now; he comprehended what it was like to try to make something that was beautiful and elusive all at once. 

Though he wrote for his own enjoyment, he was tempted to show what he’d done to someone else, but he couldn’t think of anyone he’d be comfortable sharing with. Unfortunately, due to the rather personal nature of many of his poems (if they could be called poems; Sam was hesitant to even say they were such), Frodo and Bilbo were very far out of the question. 

In the end, it was all for the best that Sam kept his writing private. There were certain facets of himself he’d rather not voluntarily enter into the existing pool of Samwise-Gamgee-common-knowledge, no matter how successfully or unsuccessfully he’d disguised them with poetic form.  

For now though, he had to put his mind off writing. The sun had begun to set, and Sam would be expected at home soon. 

He left his book open on the bench to give the ink a chance to dry as he did a final survey of the garden. He then went inside to bid Bilbo goodnight and to return the fountain pen he’d borrowed from him (He’d lent his original pen to his sister Marigold, who had immediately lost it).

Just as he stepped outside again, he saw a figure coming up the road towards Bag End, carrying a small luggage case. It only took him a single glance to know it was Frodo, who he had not expected to catch upon his return, and had thus given up all hope of seeing until the next day. 

Thinking he might help Frodo bring his case up the hill, Sam hastened to the gate. He opened it clumsily and let it swing shut behind him.

‘Sam!’ Frodo shouted, waving wildly with his free hand. 

Sam, in the midst of trying to puzzle out why he was being greeted with so much excitement, offered a bashful ‘Hello, Mr. Frodo!’ 

Frodo dropped his luggage in the dusty lane, apparently forsaking it for now, and ran towards Sam, showing no apparent signs of stopping. By the time he realised that Frodo was actually about to tackle him in a hug, he could be nothing but receptive. Frodo collided with him, arms encircling his neck. Without thinking twice, Sam was hugging him too, taking in the comfort of Frodo's familiar form, though he’d never felt him this closely before. 

Sam knew this was unseemly for both of them, however hard he might be justifying it in his head. He was only returning this gesture, which meant that he was fulfilling his purpose in serving Frodo. Plus, he had missed him. 

Why Frodo had chosen to initiate this in the first place, well, there was a question Sam didn’t have the answers to. He supposed he should stop questioning the peculiar things that Frodo did, since the explanations probably lied more in his general peculiarity than amongst sensible origins. Nevertheless, Sam liked to think he understood Frodo, and was always a little disappointed to be newly mystified by him. The hug still felt nice, though, be it joking or genuine.

‘It’s good to see you back again, sir,’ Sam said, after they separated from each other. 

‘Long have I suffered,’ said Frodo, with a beaming smile that implied his suffering hadn’t really been all that arduous. ‘Will you come in so that I can recount my adventures to you in detail?’ 

‘Oh, I really would like to,’ Sam began reluctantly, ‘but I’m needed at home for supper.’ 

‘You’re leaving,’ Frodo realised, noticing that Sam was preparing to depart. ‘Are you likely to come back?’ 

‘Come back? Tomorrow, certainly, I will?’ Sam didn’t understand what was being asked of him. 

‘Ah, I thought maybe if you had time tonight– but, no matter. I’ll catch you tomorrow then.’

‘I can come see you later tonight, if that’s what you need,’ Sam said, trying to remedy the downcast look on Frodo’s face. ‘I just didn’t think you’d be wantin’ me here off-hours. But I’ll gladly return as soon as possible to hear all about your trip, sir. Again, if that’d please you.’ 

‘That would be excellent,’ said Frodo, quite cheered. ‘I’ll see if I can scrounge up a beverage and some biscuits to reward you for your troubles! We can make a night of it.’ 

‘I’ll be there,’ Sam promised. He wondered at his being invited to Bag End in such a friendly sense. He’d never not be Frodo’s gardener, of course, that was a hierarchy that would always exist between them, but regardless, he felt a surge of happiness at being recognised as someone whose company Frodo could value equally with –if not above– the work he did. 

Frodo went to retrieve the luggage case he’d dropped, and Sam opened the garden gate for him (Sam had forgotten his previous resolution to help Frodo carry the case, as he had since been submerged too deeply in his thoughts). Frodo paused before stepping inside. 

‘You’re a treasure, Sam Gamgee,’ he said pleasantly, taking Sam’s hand and pressing a swift kiss to the back of it. He smiled in a playful way, as if to show that Sam shouldn’t overthink it. 

Sam was too taken aback to say anything. He nodded in a very abrupt manner before turning to the lane again, muttering to himself the entire way home. 

If within him there existed any distinct sense that he had forgotten something, he failed to give it the attention it required. 

As Frodo approached his own front door, he heard a sound akin to pages of parchment rustling in the wind. He could pinpoint this sound very accurately, in fact, given that no one was a bigger fan of reading outdoors than he. After a glance around, he spotted an open book perched neatly on the garden bench. 

Without bothering to look at its contents just yet, Frodo picked up the book, wondering at it. He’d never seen it before, and it was such a lovely blue colour that he certainly would’ve noticed it if it came from Bilbo’s collection. 

Frodo then wagered two assumptions. One of which was correct. The other would make a lot of trouble for him. 

His first assumption was that the book had been left on the bench by Sam. 

His second was that leaving the book on the bench was Sam’s circuitous way of giving it to him, Frodo, for whom it must have been intended. Sam had likely put it there when he’d seen Frodo approaching, too shy to distribute it to him directly, but wanting him to take a look at it on his own time. 

Frodo could see that the pages were handwritten. Probably, he guessed, Sam wanted to share with him something he’d composed. 

Flattered and eager, more so than he had any earthly right to be, Frodo collected the book and carried it inside with him. He wouldn’t mention it to Sam tonight, since he should at least have read some of it before bringing it up, but he placed it on his bedside table so he wouldn’t forget to examine it later.  

*** 

    That night, Sam did indeed return to Bag End after he’d finished his supper and helped his family wash up. His story to his Gaffer was that he had to do a couple of chores for Frodo, who, having just returned home from Buckland, required a little assistance settling in again. The lie was not altogether convincing, but Sam knew the truth would sound even more ridiculous. There was hardly anyone who’d believe that a hobbit of Frodo’s sort would seek out Sam Gamgee for something other than chores or gardening. 

    There were times during the average workday when Frodo treated Sam as a friend, confided in him, and shared meals with him, but this reflected upon nothing more specific than the general kindness of the Bagginses. Bilbo himself had always seen Sam’s father more as a friend than a servant, and he frequently talked to Sam about him with a great familial fondness. Sam had supposed that Frodo meant for them to have a similar relationship, even if he could, from time to time, admit to himself – and to a few pages of parchment – that the way he felt for Frodo went a little too far past familial and had waved goodbye to professional a long while back. 

    Though it was an upset to the usual balance of his relationship with Frodo, Sam had ultimately vowed not to think too much on the larger meaning behind his being invited over at night. His Gaffer had always said that if Sam ever got around to the act of thinking, he was destined to dig himself even deeper into whatever mess he’d made. Sam would be offended by this notion, if it didn’t so very often happen to be true. 

    Besides, as Sam knew from years of experience, Frodo so rarely paid attention to the etiquette of social connection that his committing a breach of the rules constituted normalcy more so than his adhering to them.  

    (Many hobbits believed that rules, spoken or unspoken, were something Frodo simply hadn’t heard of. This was untrue. Bilbo had, in fact, taught Frodo many things about propriety, though he used his own definition of the word propriety as a baseline. Since there had never been a book written about Bilbo’s propriety, he’d taken selections from other books on golden behaviour and had informed Frodo of which parts he should commit to memory and which he should totally ignore. 

The things Frodo did learn were among the following: always offer guests food and drink while you are hosting them, when meeting someone new, smile and compliment them so as to make a good impression, keep a handkerchief on you at all times so that you may impart it on someone in need. 

The things he’d dismissed as complete hogwash were more along the lines of: Do not turn your attention to your studies while guests are present, keep polite acquaintance with all members of your family even if they frustrate you beyond belief , and treat others in accordance to their social class, that is to say, do not let your gardener become your most affectionate friend .) 

Sam knocked on the front door, which opened for him almost immediately.

‘Sam!’ greeted Frodo, for the second time that day. He looked absolutely splendid and wild. He seemed to have bathed since their last meeting, as his hair was still damp and clinging to the sides of his face. He was also dressed very informally, wearing a loose white shirt and braces, without a trace of the waistcoat and cravat he’d been sporting earlier. All usual methods of address had escaped Sam’s mind.  

    ‘Come in, then,’ Frodo instructed, ushering eagerly. ‘But do try to be silent in the hall, Bilbo’s gone to sleep already and I wouldn’t want to wake him.’ 

    ‘Sir…does he know I’m here?’ Sam asked. Frodo took his wrist and pulled him along. From what Sam could tell, they were heading for the library. 

    ‘No, I hadn’t told him,’ Frodo whispered. ‘But he doesn’t need to know every single thing I do.’ 

    ‘I could get into trouble, Mr. Frodo,’ Sam said, worried. 

    ‘Into trouble? With Bilbo?’ Frodo laughed and then clapped a hand over his mouth. ‘Sam, you’re more likely to get into trouble with a bumblebee in winter. He adores a good sneaking around, and he adores you, so you’d probably get a commendation and a raise if he happened to catch you.’

    Seeing the general fear of disrespecting authority still written on Sam’s face, Frodo added, ‘Which he won’t.’

    They’d reached the library, where a fire was lit and crackling cosily in the fireplace. Books and papers were strewn about, as they constantly were in the home of two avid readers, but Frodo had cleared space on a sofa for them to sit and had placed a tea set and a tray of biscuits on a nearby table. 

    Sam sat, at Frodo’s invitation, and accepted a cup of tea. 

    At length, Frodo began to tell him of what had happened at the party in Buckland, of how out of place he’d felt until joining up with his cousins, and then of how mortified he’d then become when he’d learned that Merry wanted to match him up with someone. 

    ‘Honestly!’ Frodo said indignantly. ‘I’m usually supportive of his schemes, but I draw the line when I’m the victim!’ 

    ‘Sounds like he just wants to help you, Mr. Frodo,’ Sam said. 

    ‘Well, he should know the areas in which I do and don’t need his help. Anyway, I did end up meeting a very nice lass because of him, so I suppose it wasn’t all evil.’

    Sam felt his own face fall. Now he understood why Frodo had been so adamant upon bringing him this news so soon. He’d met someone, and from the way he talked, he might even have hopes of marrying her. 

    ‘Then, congratulations, sir,’ was all Sam could muster. 

    ‘What? Oh, Sam, not like that!’ Frodo grinned. ‘You didn’t think anyone could get me that easily, did you? No, all I meant was that I met a friend. I’m very much the same as I was – deadset against courtship, marriage, and everything that comes along with it.’ He crossed his arms and held his head high. 

    ‘You don’t think anyone at all could make you happy?’ Sam inquired. 

    ‘Well, they’d have their work cut out for them. Intolerable as I am. You see, I’d only be happy if someone loved me without my fortune. And being who I am, I’m very hard to love in the absence of wealth. There are plenty of other hobbits out there who are far more agreeable, sociable, and sensible than I. Now, I’m not likely to alter my personality for the sake of another, and since I live well as a bachelor, I think my case is just about made.’

This was the first time Sam had heard an explanation for Frodo’s disinclination towards marriage that was not ‘It’s just a silly thing’ or ‘I prefer my own company to that of others.’ Sam hadn’t know that Frodo believed some part of himself unlovable or that he thought his inheritance was the only thing that made him attractive.    

    ‘Don’t say you’re hard to love, sir,’ insisted Sam. ‘You’re wise and kind, and you say plenty of amusing things.’ And you’re pleasant-looking in such a captivating way . He left that part out. ‘I don’t know how it could be possible to not find you appealin’.’ That hadn’t been much better.

    ‘Thank you, Sam,’ said Frodo, his voice quiet. ‘You’re, um…thanks.’ For once he seemed self-conscious, taking a long sip of tea while avoiding Sam’s gaze. 

    Feeling guilty that he’d upset Frodo by pressing him on this subject for so long, Sam implored him to talk more about the parts of his trip he’d enjoyed. Frodo happily told Sam the latest news of Merry and Pippin, who had both been up to a great deal since Frodo had last seen them (most of it no good, all of it funny). He went off on several tangents about the food he’d eaten over the last few days and how skillfully the Brandybucks knew how to roast vegetables with herbs. 

    ‘I wish you could’ve been there,’ Frodo contemplated. Facing Sam, he rested the side of his head tiredly on the back of the sofa. ‘I just know you’d have had a marvellous time.’ 

    ‘I probably wouldn’t,’ Sam said. ‘I’m much more at home at the Green Dragon on a Friday night. Surrounded by all those important folks, I’d hardly know how to act. Make a horrible fool outta myself.’ 

    ‘I’d be there with you.’ Frodo yawned. ‘We could be a pair of fools.’

    ‘All right, Mr. Frodo,’ Sam assured. He could tell that Frodo was too exhausted to be rational, so he’d let him entertain whatever strange ideas he fancied at the moment. Frodo closed his eyes and smiled faintly.  

    ‘Are you fallin’ asleep, sir?’ Sam asked. It was clear he was. 

    ‘No, Sam,’ Frodo mumbled. He didn’t say anything else to further his argument. 

    ‘You must be mighty worn out from all the travel. No shame in admittin’ to it.’ 

    Frodo was silent. He’d started to lean towards Sam, and there was a risk that he’d soon end up using his gardener as a pillow. That wouldn’t be too bad, in Sam’s opinion, but he was just an ounce too invested in his own manners to let it happen. 

    Sam reached over and took Frodo’s teacup from his lap, where it had been sitting precariously. He put it on the table, out of harm's way. Sam weighed his options. He could try to rouse Frodo enough to get him to walk back to his room and climb in bed, but he was reluctant to go this route, as Frodo may protest, and he looked so at peace in this moment that Sam would really be remiss to interrupt his rest. 

    Instead, Sam moved a few pillows to the head of the sofa and gently put his hands on Frodo’s shoulders, lowering him down so that his head rested on the pillows. Sam lifted his legs as well so that he was fully reclined and his feet were no longer touching the floor. A half-conscious, maybe quarter-conscious Frodo made a few soft sounds of contentment. 

    Sam found a blanket folded on a nearby chair and draped it over Frodo, who curled comfortably into it. Sam admired his work for a respectful interval of time and then took his cue to exit the room. 

      ‘Leaving, Sam?’ came Frodo’s distant, lethargic voice. 

    ‘Yes, sir.’ 

    ‘Stay. You’ll catch a chill outside.’

    ‘It’s summer,’ Sam reminded. 

    ‘Mm,’ Frodo argued, unconvincingly. 

    ‘I’ll likely be here when you wake up,’ said Sam. It could be true, depending on how late into the next day Frodo ended up sleeping. 

    No reply came. 

    ‘Goodnight, Mr. Frodo,’ bid Sam warmly, before he slipped out of the room and snuck down the hallway once again.  

Chapter Text

Frodo was mid-second breakfast when he heard an urgent banging on the front door. 

    This was an annoyance too many, in Frodo’s opinion. He’d been perfectly content to eat his sausage and roasted mushrooms and think about how appalling and lousy his behaviour the night before had been. He was sure that falling asleep wasn’t part of proper hosting criteria. He also had a dim memory of asking Sam to stay with him instead of going home, and he was trying very hard to pretend that he didn’t remember what he’d meant by that. The problem was that he did remember, and that the meaning was, in fact, if you’d be so willing, I’d love it if you could get under this blanket and let me fall asleep in your arms . He hadn’t known that drowsiness instilled in him such a need for tactile comforts. 

    Frodo was hoping that someone else might answer the door. 

    ‘Bilbo!’ he called. Then he remembered that Bilbo had told him during their first breakfast, while Frodo was still mostly asleep, that he had to go into Hobbiton to buy a pen, or ink for a pen, or something similar. And Sam hadn’t shown up for work yet. 

    Frodo rose and shuffled to the door, reluctant to face the prospect of visitors alone. 

    He opened the door to find the absolute last hobbit he’d been expecting. 

    ‘I am so sorry about this,’ Calla Sackville said. She looked absolutely distraught and her face was very red. 

    ‘What’s happening?’ 

    Call took a deep breath and launched into a speedy explanation. ‘My mother was inquiring about you, and so I had to tell her the truth, that you’re not interested in me and that there’s not to be anything between us. But I was a little…less clear than I should’ve been about our mutual unromantic feelings, and now she’s insisted that we come have tea with you so that she might…so that I might…um, convince you to court me. She says you’re just trying to be difficult so I’ll like you more. There’ll be no stopping her!’ 

‘She’s coming here? Now?’ said Frodo. There was little that was more terrifying to him than having unexpected guests while he was at home by himself, especially guests he didn’t know. 

‘I know! I told her it was awfully rude to just show up like that, but she said if you’re a hobbit of any worth, you’d host us anyway. I’m really so sorry. She’s down the hill talking to the posthobbit now, so thankfully I had a few moments to warn you.’ 

    ‘Oh no,’ Frodo said, rubbing his forehead with his hand. 

    ‘Oh no,’ Calla agreed. 

    ‘What would you like me to do?’ 

    ‘Could you just try to show her you’re not inclined to marry me? Maybe lie and say you’ve already got someone? Anything, please!’ 

    ‘All right,’ Frodo relented, feeling for Calla’s plight immensely and not seeing that he had any other options. He could spot Mrs. Sackville coming in through the gate. ‘Why don’t you both come in?’ 

*** 

    Sam was late. It was just his luck that the one day he’d essentially promised to be on time, he’d overslept. By the time he got to Bag End, he was sure that his tardiness must have been noticed, so he resolved to do the right (though embarrassing) thing and go into the hole to find someone to apologise to. 

 Usually at this time, Frodo and Bilbo would be sitting in the kitchen having second breakfast. Sam was planning to go there to seek them out, but when he stepped inside, he heard a few voices coming from the sitting room. Too curious for his own good, he moved to the doorway to listen in. 

‘My daughter has some very good connections, Mr. Baggins, I can assure you,’ said an older voice that Sam didn’t recognise. 

‘She’s a wonderful lass, ma’am, I couldn’t disagree,’ Frodo said. Sam knew that this was his overly-courteous-so-as-to-end-this-conversation-as-soon-as-possible voice. ‘However, I must inform you that I am not in search of a wife at the moment, nor am I ever likely to be. Forgive me for being blunt, but I thought it would spare you valuable time.’ 

‘Mr. Baggins, begging your pardon, but how could someone like you not be thinking of marriage? Unless you are simply trying to spare my family from the humiliation of your own personal dislike.’ 

‘Mum, please,’ said a third, flustered voice. 

‘I have nothing against your family,’ Frodo reassured. ‘It’s only that I have already entered into an engagement with another.’ 

Sam knew this to be a lie, since Frodo would certainly have told him if he was truly betrothed to someone, but the sentence itself was still shocking. Sam realised that he was out of his depth and that he had no right to eavesdrop on whatever this was. He then entered the room with the sole intention of letting Frodo know he was here to start work and then leaving immediately afterwards. 

    ‘Excuse me,’ he began. ‘I don’t mean to interrupt–’ 

    ‘Ah! Speaking of!’ Frodo exclaimed, jumping out of his chair. ‘Dear Sam, may I talk with you in the kitchen while we prepare some refreshments for Mrs. Sackville and her daughter?’ 

    ‘Well, sure–’ Sam said. Frodo took him by the arm and hastened them both out of the room. Sam glanced back at the two guests as they left. The mother was looking at Sam as though he was the oddest thing she’d ever seen. The daughter smiled at him hopefully. 

    ‘We will return shortly,’ Frodo promised. 

    As soon as they got to the kitchen, Frodo whirled around and faced Sam with gravity in his expression. ‘I am about to ask something terrible of you,’ he said. 

    ‘Sir?’ 

    ‘Will you pretend to be engaged to me?’ 

    ‘Sir?’ Sam repeated, with a more alarmed intonation. He began to question if engaged was a word with secondary meanings he was unaware of.

    ‘I’m sorry to even involve you in this at all,’ he said. As he spoke, he set up a kettle of water to be boiled. ‘But when you walked in, well, I don’t know, I thought it might heighten the deception if I actually had someone here to verify that I’m spoken for.’ 

    ‘Mr. Frodo, why do you have to lie in the first place?’ 

    Frodo explained the circumstances as he pulled some seed cakes out of the pantry and put them on plates. He told Sam about Calla’s mother’s insistence on finding a match for her daughter and her unwillingness to believe that anyone would hesitate to marry when there was wealth on both sides. This much Sam had gleaned from what he’d overheard. 

    ‘Calla suggested that I tell her I’m attached, to make this as painless as possible for both of us, so I panicked and volunteered you as the victim. I will make this up to you Sam, I promise.’ 

‘It’s nothin’ to worry about. I’ll go along,’ Sam said, surprising himself with how calmly he expressed this. This was far from the first time he’d participated in a scheme of Frodo’s, but at heart he knew that this one was nothing like the rest, for multiple reasons. 

‘Thank you, Sam,’ Frodo said. He sighed gratefully. ‘I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. You’ll just have to sit next to me and nod at what I say. And don’t call me “Mister” or “sir.” If you’re not too uneasy at the thought, you could put your arm around me or hold my hand or suchlike.’ Frodo wrung his hands anxiously. ‘But again, nothing to discomfit you.’ 

‘I’m willin’ to do all that,’ Sam said. He hoped the sight of his face did not portray how unsteady he felt. ‘But, sir–’ Frodo gave him a stern look. ‘But Frodo, I’m a rotten liar. And I don’t know that they’d believe this whole thing even if I weren’t. I mean,’ – he gestured to Frodo’s fine red waistcoat and then to his own faded work overalls, hoping this would illustrate the very visual disparities between them. 

Frodo gave him a quizzical look and then, seeming to realise what Sam’s argument was, said ‘Ha! Don’t sell yourself so short! You know, you could do a lot better than me, Gamgee. That part’s not a falsehood.’ He patted Sam’s shoulder supportively and proceeded to finish plating the food and pouring the tea. Sam was left to wonder who in the world could be better than Frodo. 

They shortly returned to the sitting room, where Sam discovered that devising a plot to fool outsiders was much easier than carrying out said plot, particularly when it hinged on his ability to lie to everyone involved. 

(To Sam, there was some contention with regards to whether or not there was a lie at all. He was pretending to love Frodo for the sake of tricking Mrs. Sackville; however, since in reality, it couldn’t be said that he didn’t love Frodo, he wasn’t exactly faking anything for her benefit. This meant, more nefariously, that it was Frodo he was lying to, in pretending to be someone who didn’t love him who was, in turn, pretending to love him. But since there were two levels of pretending there, Sam supposed they might just cancel out into honesty. He would either be portraying the complete truth or deceiving all parties, and he couldn’t determine which mental stance he should take on the situation.) 

Sam sat down while Frodo arranged and offered up the refreshments. Calla thanked him, and her mother stared in silent irritation. 

When Frodo returned to the sofa, he sat close to Sam, who took this as an invitation to enact what they had discussed. After an excruciating moment of indecision, Sam reached his arm around Frodo’s back and held onto him as loosely as he could. Frodo smiled and leaned their shoulders together.

‘Will you give us the pleasure of an introduction?’ Mrs. Sackville said, in a way that implied very little pleasure on her part. 

‘Yes.’ Frodo cleared his throat. ‘Yes, of course. This is Sam, my, er… intended.’  

    Sam felt so lightheaded at the sound of those words that he barely registered Frodo reaching over with both of his hands and covering Sam’s free one. The pressure he applied was a convincing facsimile of affection. 

    ‘Do you have a family name, Sam?’ Mrs. Sackville asked. She was obviously looking to pinpoint his status in order to know how much respect she was required to show him. 

    Sam looked to Frodo for help. He couldn’t say his real family name, despite his unwavering pride in being a Gamgee. He didn’t want this to result in any gossiping that reflected negatively on his father or his siblings. He also didn’t want them to hear about this at all, as he wouldn’t be able to explain how the resulting rumours about himself had spread. It was something he would be willing to deal with if the whole thing were real, but in this case, dispelling false information would not be worth its emotional labour. 

    ‘Underhill,’ Frodo provided, to Sam’s relief. ‘A traditional and good-hearted family. It’s an equal match.’ He squeezed Sam’s hand.

He lied beautifully. Sam wanted to imagine that this scenario wouldn't be so much of a ruse if they truly were equally matched, but his heart told him that nothing would be different. There were no circumstances in which Frodo’s interest in him would rise to this fictitious level. 

‘It’s good to meet you, Sam,’ said Calla genially. ‘I’ve heard so much.’ 

‘How strange,’ Mrs. Sackville countered. ‘You didn’t mention that Mr. Baggins was engaged.’

‘Oh, well, he hadn’t told me of it,’ said Calla. ‘Not exactly. But when we met, he had a clear disinterest in me and a strong inclination to talk of his very good friend,’ she indicated Sam, ‘so I suppose I should’ve been able to guess.’ (Sam, unaware that everything she said was technically true, marvelled at her abilities of deception and thought they might even be superior to Frodo’s). 

‘As has become apparent to you, Mrs. Sackville,’ Frodo said, authority returning to his voice, ‘I am no longer a bachelor and can be nothing but a friend to your daughter. This I am happy to be, but if you’ve come here searching for something else, you are out of luck. I’m sorry you’ve been given the wrong impression.’

‘I told you, mum,’ Calla said. She was a bit too excited. ‘We should leave now, before we cause these two any more trouble.’

‘Have you orchestrated this, Calla?’ Mrs. Sackville inquired, rounding on her daughter with frustration. Calla’s smile fell in an instant. Sam and Frodo looked at each other with mirrored expressions of panic.

‘What, um… what could you mean by that?’ Calla’s attempt at seeming innocent left a lot to be desired. 

‘Oh, your obstinacy knows no bounds!’ She turned to Frodo. ‘Has my daughter paid you to do this?’ 

‘Sorry?’ His hold on Sam tightened yet again. This was clearly the sort of bold disrespect that did not fall under the Baggins’ definition of acceptable contrariety. 

‘She’s surely conspired to make you participate for her own gain,’ Mrs. Sackville accused. ‘You should feel ashamed, Mr. Baggins, for falling prey to her insolence, and for roping one of your friends–’ she eyed Sam for a moment and then reconsidered, ‘–perhaps, one of your unfortunate servants, into this ploy as well.’ 

Doubtless, Sam was offended at being so easily identified as a member of the lower class who didn’t belong in this setting, but the humiliation burning in his face was nothing compared to Frodo’s reaction. 

‘You will not speak to my loved ones that way!’ Frodo commanded, his voice raised and angry. ‘I will not tolerate it ever, but especially not in my own home!’ He turned to Sam, and in a gentler, genuine voice, said ‘I’m so sorry, Sam, really.’ He stroked the back of Sam’s hand with his thumb in a veritable attempt to comfort. 

‘Oh, it’s all right, Frodo,’ said Sam. He was too busy being flattered by how quickly Frodo had come to his defence to mind anything else that was going on. He was also not going to be the first to bring up the fact that he hadn’t actually been accused of anything other than the truth. 

‘Your commitment to keeping up this charade is doing you no favours,’ Mrs. Sackville continued, having speedily recovered from being yelled at by Frodo. 

‘Frodo, lad, you should’ve told me you were having a gathering in my sitting room.’

Everyone turned to look at Bilbo, who had just entered with a look of concern written across his wise face. 

His presence brought Sam a good deal of happiness, though this was coupled with a new sort of fear. Sam’s arm was still around Frodo, and their hands were entwined in what seemed, to Sam, to be quite an intimate manner. There would be little explanation for it, and Sam was not looking forward to trying to formulate one. For now, at least, they’d been saved from one horror. 

‘I don’t believe we’ve met,’ Bilbo said to Mrs. Sackville and her daughter. ‘Though I know you from the commotion you’ve been causing. It can be heard from outside the front door, you see.’ 

Sparring with someone her own age was apparently much more intimidating for Mrs. Sackville. She sputtered out an unconvincing apology while Calla stood next to her, frozen. 

‘What’s your name, lass?’ Bilbo asked Calla. 

‘Calla Sackville. It’s a pleasure, Mr. Bilbo, sir.’ She bowed her head in gratitude. ‘I’m a friend of your nephew’s. And this here is my mother.’

‘A friend?’ Bilbo questioned, looking at Frodo, who nodded helplessly. Sam knew he should have removed his arm by now, but his shock had him stuck in this agreeable embrace. ‘Ah, then for a friend of Frodo’s, I will cordially ask you both to leave instead of throwing you out.’ 

Frodo snickered and Calla grinned eagerly. 

‘Yes, sir. I’d be delighted to leave, sir,’ she said. 

‘Mr. Baggins, I’d like to have a word,’ Mrs. Sackville began. She seemed bitter at the prospect of having to lecture the elder Baggins as well as the younger. ‘Your nephew and my daughter have been most irresponsible–’

‘Good morning, Sam,’ Bilbo said, choosing to address him instead of Mrs. Sackville. His disposition showed no sign of reprimand, or even of surprise. 

‘Mornin’, sir,’ replied Sam in a weak voice. He was all too aware of the feel of Frodo’s thin fingers resting between his.

‘Before I forget, I’ve picked up a pen and some ink for you so you don’t have to keep on borrowing mine. Not that I mind, I just thought you’d like your own to use while you’re here. I’ve left it on the desk in the study for you.’ 

‘Thank you kindly, Mr. Bilbo,’ Sam responded, in utter awe. 

Mrs. Sackville –having learned that 1. Bilbo preferred to talk to Sam when she was the other option 2. There was nothing apparently abnormal to Bilbo about the way Sam and Frodo were sitting together and 3. Sam could, in fact, read and write– was starting to look as though she strongly regretted a few of the things she’d said. 

‘I bid you good day, Mr. Baggins,’ she announced, to Bilbo alone. She then made a stiff turn and walked out, leaving her daughter behind. 

Calla breathed out heavily. ‘I am, once again, so sorry for this imposition.’

‘Calla!’ called a voice from the hall. 

‘I’ve got to go, I suppose. Hopefully this whole thing will teach her to take me a bit more seriously.’ 

‘I’d say it might,’ offered Frodo, optimistically. 

‘Thank you, Frodo, for your help. And it really was nice to meet you, Sam. I’m sorry my mother was so awful to you.’ 

‘It ain’t your apology to make, miss, but that’s kind of you,’ Sam told her. 

‘And thank you, Mr. Baggins,’ she said to Bilbo, giving him a courtesy. 

‘You’re a good lass, Miss Sackville,’ Bilbo said. ‘Feel free to stop by for tea anytime. Just please do give us a heads-up if you’re to bring any relatives.’ 

‘Of course! Goodbye, then!’ She gave them all a bashful wave before running out after her mother. 

After her exit, the atmosphere of the room seemed to relax. Awareness coming back to him, Sam took his arm and his hand away from Frodo and moved a little so that they were sitting at an appropriate distance. 

To say that Sam was disoriented would’ve been as much of an understatement as saying that Mrs. Sackville was irritable. He would’ve had trouble figuring out if he’d imagined the whole scenario, but he had such a way of disciplining the limits of his imagination that his mind would never have gotten this far on its own. 

He and Frodo had pretended to be a couple in love. It ultimately convinced no one, which Sam should’ve expected, but the thing was, Frodo had thought it would be convincing. That was what had Sam’s mind reeling. To Frodo, it hadn’t been a ludicrous idea. He’d assumed that the look of them together would be credible, that his gardener’s arm around him was not an offensive sight. (Sam had to remind himself that, in their constructed reality, he hadn’t been Frodo’s gardener, but that did not do much to add logic to his tangled stream of thoughts).

Sam wanted to feel guilty, knew he should feel guilty, but he was just a bit happy instead. 

‘I’m sorry for bein’ late today, sir,’ Sam said, not knowing what else he could say to Frodo at this point. 

‘What? Oh. It’s fine,’ said Frodo. He didn’t look at Sam. 

Sam wished he could express how much he’d appreciated having his hand touched so nicely just a few moments ago, but this was, of course, unthinkable. 

You’re in love with him, Samwise , Sam told himself as he gazed at Frodo curiously. There’s no use dressing it up with other words anymore. No use denying it neither. You’re just plain in love with him . 

‘Sam,’ said Bilbo. Sam’s eyes snapped to him. ‘May I possibly have a word with Frodo alone?’ 

‘Yes, sir,’ Sam agreed. ‘I should be in the garden anyways. Not sure why ‘m not already, now I mention it.’ 

Frodo looked almost as if he wanted to protest, but all he said was, ‘Thanks again. I really will make it up to you.’ 

‘No trouble, Mr. Frodo,’ assured Sam. Frodo looked relieved to hear the cheeriness of his tone. 

So Sam went off to tell the plants of his woes, and Bilbo, with the intention of asking Frodo what exactly had been afoot that morning, got his answer much sooner than expected. 

After Sam had gone, Frodo thanked his uncle for having salvaged their charade. He explained the details of it while Bilbo laughed and subsequently got scolded for laughing. Truthfully, he did think it an intelligent scheme on Frodo’s part, if not too heavily influenced by personal elements. The hilarity in it for Bilbo was that, at first glance, he had been under no impression that there was any charade at all. 

Chapter Text

In the following days, Frodo spent all his time reading the book Sam had given to him. He felt particularly dreadful about the whole false-engagement ordeal, and thought that perhaps reading Sam’s compositions would make up for it. 

Sam didn’t seem like he was holding any sort of grudge against Frodo, but Frodo couldn’t get it out of his mind that Sam might be hiding how upset he really was. It hadn’t been considerate of Frodo to put him in such a place and to subject him to the ensuing insults he’d received. Frodo sometimes truly forgot that he and Sam were not equivalent in class, and, worst of all, that Sam was obligated via social contract to answer to him as an authority. This reminder darkened Frodo’s outlook, making him wonder if he hadn’t forced Sam into something without knowing just how uncomfortable he was with it. 

At heart, he knew Sam to be strong-willed, and he’d heard him speak his mind without warrant many times in the past, despite how much Sam might want him to forget this. He was confident in Sam’s ability to stand up for himself. But Frodo really did feel like he’d crossed a line, as a friend and as an employer, so he needed to show that he cared about Sam, that he saw him as more than a servant and an assistant in carrying out devious conspiracies. Reading what Sam had written and then talking to him about it in a way that demonstrated deep thought and true comprehension seemed the perfect way to do this.

Frodo still was not exactly sure why Sam had chosen to show him the poems he’d written; he didn’t know if he wanted feedback or if he meant for Frodo to keep them as a gift, but regardless, Frodo was elated to learn that they really were quite good. He liked reading them, and he read each one several times, admiring the quaint –though vivid– language that was employed. Many of them followed the poetic traditions associated with courtly love, which Frodo assumed was an indicator of nothing but the fact that this was Sam’s favourite template. 

He had written down some of the best lines on another piece of parchment, and he looked forward to being able to tell Sam that pursuing a linguistic art form had certainly not been a waste of his time. 

The night before Frodo planned on talking to Sam about the poems, he decided to give the whole book another quick scan prior to going to bed. He’d gotten ready to retire for the night before realising that he’d left the book on the kitchen table, where he’d been reading during supper. (Bilbo always lovingly joked that reading at meals was Frodo’s fatal flaw. He was right.) 

When Frodo entered the kitchen, hoping to grab what he needed unnoticed, he was met with the sight of Bilbo perusing the very book he’d been so idiotic as to abandon. 

‘This is some lovely writing, you know,’ he remarked. ‘The language is simple overall, but the depth of emotion captured more than makes up for it.’ 

‘It’s not my doing,’ Frodo disclaimed. He felt the need to give credit where credit was due. He also wanted to get the book back in his own possession as soon as possible, as he couldn’t shake the feeling that a private thing had just been interrupted. 

Bilbo chuckled. ‘Oh, I know you’re not the author of these poems. I’d be concerned if you were.’ 

Frodo tilted his head at this cryptic comment. He was a little offended on Sam’s behalf, despite not really knowing what the offence was. 

‘Why do you say that?’ he asked, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. 

Bilbo closed the book and looked at Frodo in a way that seemed to hint at a serious talk. 

‘If you were writing all these poems about yourself, you’d be a bit full of it, I’d say.’

‘About myself?’ Frodo wondered. 

Bilbo smiled at him, pityingly. ‘Lad, you must’ve realised that –excepting the ones singularly about nature– every poem in here is about you. Haven’t I taught you anything about textual analysis?’

‘Though you make many odd jokes, I don’t exactly see the point in this one,’ Frodo countered, uneasily. He knew he would’ve noticed if there’d been a poem that mentioned him. Besides, what reason would Sam have for writing about Frodo? Frodo did not think his existence very poetic. 

‘What of this then?’ Bilbo challenged, opening the book at random and reading from the page he’d chosen: 

‘Though in others fairness may wax and wane, 

disappear like mist on a sun-filled day, 

your grace weathers winter snow, summer rain, 

and every storm from September to May. 

You reflect in the bright dew of the grass, 

as in the stars, who I’d name all for you,

if I’d known them first. I see you, but alas, 

for all this, you will not see me anew. 

So if I cannot say I am taken 

with you, I will use every other word. 

If one day my heart should be forsaken,

I would have you pretend you’d hardly heard. 

If only I had more description to share, 

though you are, in truth, beyond natural compare.’ 

    Frodo shrugged. ‘What of it? It’s some awfully sweet imagery, but it has nothing whatsoever to do with me.’ 

He recognised this poem from a previous read, in which he hadn’t assumed much about it. However, now, hearing it out loud, he was more cognizant of how heartfelt it sounded. He still didn’t think it related to him in any sense, but this time he couldn’t be so confident that it was an abstracted scenario. These were feelings that Sam might really have for someone. Someone he hadn’t told Frodo about. 

    ‘You don’t think you’re the subject?’ Bilbo asked. 

    ‘No, of course I don’t!’ Frodo retorted, a bit too passionately. ‘I mean,’ he composed himself, ‘the first rule of poetry is never to assume that the speaker and the poet are the same figure.’ This was a weak argument and he knew it, but he continued with it as a sort of last ditch effort to avoid acknowledgement of what Bilbo was implying. ‘How can we say with certainty that these are not the words of some made-up protagonist pining after another imaginary character?’ 

‘I suppose you’re right, Frodo.’ Bilbo sighed and closed the book again. ‘Young Samwise does like stories as much as you do.’ 

‘Yes,’ said Frodo. His voice quavered. ‘He does.’ (He was not at all shocked by the fact that Bilbo knew who’d written the poems. There were plenty of things that Bilbo happened to know where it was best not to question how he’d found out. Also, this was the least of Frodo’s current worries.)

‘So I expect we shall not dwell on the fact that he’s written a book of love poems, which somehow ended up in your possession.’ 

‘No, we shall not,’ Frodo resolved. 

‘Nor shall I remind you that many of these poems mention blue eyes–’ 

‘Many hobbits have them.’ 

‘–or dark hair–’ 

‘Also common.’ 

‘Provided, the combination of the two is most unlikely.’ 

‘Well,’ said Frodo, not actually having a counter argument here. He hadn’t paid much attention to the details of the subject’s appearance in many of the poems, presuming that the individual described was both a lass and fictional. As soon as he tried to recall any other evidence to support his initial reading, he couldn’t seem to remember ever seeing the word she . 

And if the poems as a collective reliably discussed someone with dark hair and blue eyes, they must have been influenced by Frodo somehow, even if they weren’t directed at him. Unless Sam knew another hobbit that happened to look like him, which seemed implausible, given that the word most folk in Hobbiton generally picked for talking about Frodo’s appearance was unusual .

‘What you’re insinuating is absurd,’ Frodo concluded. He was sure he must be entirely red from the neck up. This was very overwhelming, being told that his closest friend had written love poems about him and having essentially no way to refute it. It all looked quite damning, he had to admit. 

‘My goodness, Frodo! I thought you might need a little encouragement, which is why I interfered instead of leaving you well alone, but I never imagined that you’d be so willingly oblivious! Half the conversations you have with the lad are just plain flirtation (Frodo coughed at this), and you really mean to tell me you never suspected any consequence of this nature?

‘You–’ Frodo had nothing left to say and Bilbo knew it. His voice got quiet. ‘I– I had no notion that he liked me so very much.’ 

What had Sam said in that poem? That he was taken with him? No one’s ever been taken with me before , thought Frodo. I’m not even sure I know what it means . 

(It is worth noting, at this juncture, that Frodo did not read a lot of romance. He’d seen it as a consistent element of adventure stories, but had always preferred the parts about swords and magic spells to scenes of tender affection. Bilbo, additionally, had very few personal anecdotes to share with his nephew on this front. As such, Frodo had not the faintest idea how to go about dealing with a romance in real life. He was discovering, alarmingly, that romances could really sneak up on you if you weren’t careful.)

‘I’m glad to have helped you clarify your perception,’ Bilbo said. He clapped his hands in resolution and then made to exit the room, as if it had all been worked out. 

‘Wait!’ Frodo said, in distress. ‘What am I to do?’

‘My dear, you may do anything you like! Though I’m happy to be your guardian, I refuse to give you commands. It’s your life, in the end.’ 

‘Commands, certainly not, but a bit of advice wouldn’t hurt!’ Frodo implored. 

Bilbo sighed and put a gentle hand on Frodo’s shoulder. ‘As I see it, something has just occurred which gives you a good chance at being happy. I can’t guess why you seem so determined to be distraught over it, but I’ll tell you how it looks from my point of view. Someone close to you loves you, which isn’t surprising to me, as you’re a very lovable sort. And because I’ve seen how much fun you have when he’s around, I feel like I can remind you that Samwise is also extraordinarily lovable and caring. I’d advocate for your pursuing him and I’d be ecstatic to see the two of you together, though again, the choice is yours and no one else’s.’

‘But I’ve said I’ll never marry,’ Frodo said. ‘I haven’t prepared myself to even consider something like that.’ 

‘Haven’t you?’ Bilbo asked. For a second Frodo thought there may have been some teasing in his tone. ‘Lad, no one’s saying you’ve got to marry Sam Gamgee tomorrow, but if I’m not wrong, you’ve previously expressed a rather serious desire to live with him. And I do find myself wondering what sort of companionship you thought might come of this.’

Frodo couldn’t remember ever having mentioned this in front of Bilbo. He was thinking he might have to accept the fact that his uncle was, to some degree, omniscient. 

The question was a tricky one, though. What had he expected? It wasn’t service; he didn’t just want someone around to do his dishes and tidy his room for him. All that he was content to do (or let Bilbo do) on his own. But he couldn’t say for sure that it was marriage he wanted. Given his circumstances of birth, he’d never had the chance to separate the idea of matrimony from social and monetary factors. There weren’t many occasions in his life where he’d been around married couples who actually had a deep connection, so he could hardly be sure what a union like that entailed. 

The closest point of reference that came to his mind was Merry’s parents, Saradoc and Esmerelda. They seemed to like each other, despite their occasional arguments. There were definitely worse pairings out there than the Brandybucks. Frodo tried to think about what they were like. They said sweet things constantly, always addressing each other as my dear or my love . When Esme was frustrated, her husband would kiss her on the cheek and call her beautiful in different ways until she giggled her happiness. They even kissed publicly sometimes, at which point Merry would lean over to Frodo and express his profound mortification with his parents’ affection. 

Frodo performed a rapid experimentation of thought, in which he imagined these scenarios with himself and Sam as the primary subjects. Sam casually calling him dear . The two of them sitting close with their hands entwined, just as they had when they’d pretended, only this time it would be real and performed for no one. Frodo telling Sam how charming he was, how enjoyable it was to look upon him, how easy it was to stare, how refreshing the sound of his voice could be, until Sam would inevitably have to kiss him in order to shut him up. Sam kissing him.

Frodo had never let his daydreams run so far, and the whole thing was making his knees a bit wobbly.

‘I think I’m done talking about this,’ he said faintly. 

    ‘You seem to be giving it some serious consideration, so I will do you the favour of dropping the subject for now,’ said Bilbo, graciously. 

    ‘Yes, goodnight,’ Frodo muttered absent-mindedly. He took the book from the table with haste.

    ‘Frodo, if I may meddle just once more–’ 

    ‘Please make it quick,’ said Frodo, whose current levels of self-aware embarrassment were more conducive to being processed with his head under multiple blankets. 

    ‘Do not think this to death, my boy. Being analytical is a useful trait, but you must let it go this time. Maps and notes will be of no help to you.’ 

    ‘I suppose you’ll suggest I listen to my heart?’ 

    ‘Oh, I never would have put it half so tritely. But yes, my dear, it would be best if you did.’

***

    ‘Would you like to go on a walk with me, Sam?’ 

    Frodo had been practising that all morning. He wasn’t sure he’d done it quite the way he’d intended either, as the words had come out a little urgent and weren’t nearly as calm and sweet as he’d wanted them to be. It was an improvement on some of his earlier ideas though. A few of the first questions he’d thought of asking were definitely too intense. As such, asking for a walk seemed the best way to go.

    ‘Sure, sir. I’ll be off in two hours,’ said Sam, watering a pepper plant. 

    ‘I’d really rather it be now,’ Frodo said tersely, not wanting to be given an extension on his allotted time for wallowing in complex feelings. 

    ‘All right,’ Sam relented, with an ounce of confusion. He set down the watering can and stood. Frodo had been taller than him for a good while before their heights balanced out, but now he was starting to notice that Sam actually had a little bit on him, and that he’d have to stand on the tips of his feet if he ever wanted to–

    ‘Right then, let’s go,’ said Frodo. He looked away. He’d been doing that with increasing frequency and wondered if it was noticeable. 

    ‘Is somethin’ the matter?’ Sam asked. So it was noticeable. 

    ‘No, there’s nothing to worry about,’ Frodo promised. ‘I just thought you and I might enjoy a nice walk and a chat.’ 

    Frodo, with the knowledge that he was, on paper, intelligent, thought that there must be some secret code he had to crack here. If only he could figure out how one naturally made the progression from I’d like to go on a walk with you to I think we should enter into a courtship, with the potential end goal of getting married and spending our lives together . A walk was definitely the starting point. Couples in stories seemed to go on walks to declare their love to each other, but in the works that Frodo had read, the actual conversation was always glossed over with a quick description of emotional reconciliation and a timely return to the main plot. 

 He’d been trying to follow Bilbo’s advice up until now, but he found it difficult not to think that he’d have an easier time of it if he’d been allowed to make some notes beforehand. (Though if he had made notes, he couldn’t have been certain that they wouldn’t contain a shamefully detailed section on possible combinations and hyphenations of the names Baggins and Gamgee. ) 

‘It’s kind of you to invite me along,’ Sam said as they made their way down the hill and into the lane. ‘I know you usually prefer doin’ these types of things by yourself.’    

    ‘Even I need company,’ answered Frodo. 

    Without discussing it, they headed for the woods. The summer had brought up fresh wild grass ever-so softly, which was optimal for slow, easy strolls. Plus, the woods provided both the coolness of shade and the privacy necessary for personal conversations. 

    ‘I’m just glad it’s my company you chose, is all,’ Sam said. The warmth of this sentiment reminded Frodo that he knew for a fact his feelings were reciprocated. He had nothing to be scared of. This was going to happen. He just had to go about it carefully. He had to arrange it so that there was proper romance involved. 

    ‘To be sure, there’s no other I’d prefer,’ he replied. 

    ‘You mean that, sir?’ 

    ‘Oh, definitely,’ said Frodo, finally feeling like he was getting somewhere. He threw in a gentle smile. 

    ‘You’re strange for that,’ Sam laughed. 

    ‘Sam!’

    ‘I thought you liked bein’ called strange,’ Sam pointed out.

    ‘You know I do, but it’s not very peculiar that I’d like to spend time with you! I mean, you’re– you’re–’ Frodo was struggling. He still didn’t have the words. He’d never been much of a poet himself, and he’d only recently been identified as a romantic, with little time to hone his abilities. 

    ‘Your gardener, Mr. Frodo,’ Sam supplied, accurately, though in jest. 

They were coming up on a gap in the wood, in which a hill led down to a sunny clearing full of tall grass. 

‘The finest there is, at that,’ Frodo said. 

‘Now, sir, I know you’re lyin’.’ 

‘Why do you say so?’ Frodo stopped at the top of the hill to take a short rest. 

‘I ain’t in the garden now, am I?’

Frodo wanted to say no, even better, you’re with me , but he saw Sam’s point here. It got him worried that there may perhaps be a few more complications than he’d realised relating to the fact that Sam worked for him. But surely this would become a trivial concern in the grand scheme of things, wouldn’t it? Frodo was not going to let formality get in the way of his current intentions (as he hardly ever let formality get in the way of anything).

 He was reassured when he remembered that Sam had been the first to express his feelings, and thus could not think harshly of him for doing the same. However, it did momentarily strike him as atypical that Sam should act so calm and unworried after giving those poems to him. Then again, he argued with himself, this wasn’t a side of Sam he’d seen before. It was possible that, for all his shyness, Sam was just exceptional at courting. Frodo was starting to feel a bit behind and a good deal self-conscious. 

‘Let’s go down here,’ he advised, motioning to the clearing at the bottom of the hill. It was one of his favourite spots, and the scenery was nice enough that it could very well warrant a tender conversation. He meant at once to get all of this out in the open, both physically and metaphorically. 

    ‘Hill’s quite steep,’ Sam remarked. ‘You’d best hold on to my arm so you don’t slip.’ 

    Frodo, not having heard anything after the word arm , did as he was told. 

    They slowly shuffled down the slope, Sam concentrating on the terrain beneath them while Frodo admired him unsubtly. Truly, he was being so unsubtle about taking in Sam’s features – and wondering if one day he’d be able to trace them all with his fingertips – that he didn’t notice the tree root sticking out of the hill until his foot made sudden contact with it. 

    In an instinctive attempt to correct his balance, Frodo tripped, and his feet again lost traction, colliding with Sam’s ankles. This, combined with Frodo’s still-tight hold on Sam’s arm, caused them both to pitch forward.

Sam cried out in surprise while Frodo grit his teeth, chagrined by his misstep.

They’d been about two-thirds of the way down the hill already, but falling the rest of the way was no pleasant experience. They half-slid, half-rolled to the bottom of the slope, every attempt to slow their momentum failing completely. Sam held securely to Frodo, which succeeded in cushioning the descent for both of them, though Frodo was convinced he’d still have a bruise or two on his side from his initial impact with the ground. 

When they finally were able to stop, they landed among the soft grass in the clearing. 

Frodo, breathless with his eyes still squeezed shut, was aware of precisely one thing (Sam lying on top of him) and how this made him feel (among other things, alarmed and thrilled). 

Gradually recovering from the shock of toppling down a hill, Sam groaned and lifted his head. 

‘You all right, Mr. Frodo?’ he mumbled. 

Frodo felt frozen in place. He was almost queasy when he considered the position he was in. His breath had not quite come back to him, and he was getting overwhelmed thinking about how Sam’s legs were tangled between his own, and how near their faces had now become. He was sure his eyes must look wider than ever. 

Feeling stuck, Frodo did the only thing that was coming naturally to him at the moment. He began to laugh hysterically. 

Upon seeing that Frodo wasn’t visibly hurt or upset, Sam started to laugh as well, his laughs full of relief. 

‘You gave me such a scare!’ Sam said, shaking his head with a merry smile. He began to lift himself off Frodo, which caused some distress on the part of Frodo, who was discovering that he really would prefer staying this way. 

‘Wait!’ he said. He reached up a hand. ‘You’ve grass in your hair. Let me sort it for you.’ 

Sam stilled to allow Frodo to do this, and Frodo, making this up as he went along, combed a few blades of grass out of his hair. They were both quiet now. Frodo was in no way bold enough to meet Sam’s eyes during this process, so he tried to look away. However, at this distance, there was really nowhere else to stare. Besides, of course, at his lips.

Frodo stopped moving his hand. He ran a few thoughts through his mind. If he were to do something, now would be the time. And if he waited any longer, he might not be able to say anything to Sam for the rest of the day, out of sheer abashment. And as far as he could tell, their current circumstances were as welcoming as any. 

Softly, he said, ‘You can kiss me, if you like.’ 

(Frodo knew that this was not the most romantic way he could’ve put it, but he figured he deserved some credit for managing to say anything at all without preparation and while pinned to the ground in such a manner.)

  Sam just stared at him in disbelief. He looked as if he was debating whether or not to ask Frodo to repeat that. (He was). 

 ‘It’s all right,’ Frodo explained. He was more than willing to help Sam along. ‘I read what you wrote me and I feel–’ 

‘What? What was it you read, sir?’ Sam’s face paled considerably. Frodo’s words seemed to have the opposite effect as intended, since Sam was now trying to sit up and pull himself away. 

‘The poems,’ Frodo provided, rushing to his point. ‘The ones you wrote in that blue book. You see, I understand how you feel about me, and–’ 

‘The book?’ said Sam, now properly in a panic. ‘I’ve been lookin’ for that for days; I thought for sure I’d lost it at home… oh, I can’t hardly imagine…you’ve read it? I never intended for you to see– is that why you’re actin’ like this? You– you’ve been havin’ fun with me all this time. I should go, Mr. Frodo.’ 

The horror of realisation was dawning upon Frodo, and as he began to comprehend what he’d done, Sam stood up and started to hurry away from him. 

‘Wait! Wait!’ called Frodo. He sat up, still dazed (and veritably, confused). ‘Sam!’ 

‘Please, sir, don’t tease me no more than y’already have!’ Sam yelled. Frodo could hear a crack in his voice that indicated tears. 

Frodo ran after him. ‘Sam, that’s not my intention! I promise, I’d just like to talk and I’ll explain–’ 

‘I don’t want to talk with you, Mr. Frodo.’ Sam didn’t turn around as he said this, walking briskly back towards the wood. 

Frodo, defeated and hurt, stood in place and watched Sam disappear. 

Sam had never meant for Frodo (and certainly not for Bilbo) to read the poems he’d written. But Frodo had assumed they were for him anyway. He’d thought they were his even before knowing their content. Maybe he was full of himself. He doubted Sam would forgive him for such a thing, even if he could know for a fact that Frodo would never make fun of him for anything he felt. He’d ruined it all. He should’ve trusted that he wasn’t meant for this. 

Frodo let himself fall back down into the grass. He stayed there for a while, hoping Sam would come back, or that the earth would consume him. 

Eventually, he picked himself up and went home, unprepared to explain all this to Bilbo, but hungry and in need of some basic comfort all the same. 

Chapter Text

    Marigold Gamgee threw open the curtains covering Frodo’s windows. She’d been given explicit instruction to do so, despite her argument that this was not a task that should’ve fallen under the duties of a gardener. Her brother, however, had insisted that she must. Marigold decided to grin and bear it for Sam, who must’ve really been feeling as sick as he claimed. It was not often that he begged anyone to cover for him, and had, in fact, shown up to work with a slight bout of illness several times in the past. She was a little worried, as much as she hated to admit it. 

Frodo, asleep until just a moment ago, sat up promptly.  

‘Sam?’ he asked, with confounding urgency. 

‘’Fraid not, sir,’ she said. ‘It’s me.’ 

‘Oh,’ said Frodo, noticing her and making no effort to hide his disappointment. ‘Good morning, Marigold.’ 

‘Mornin’ to you, Mr. Frodo,’ she answered. She wasn’t sure how this whole waking-up ritual was supposed to go. Sam had said all she needed to do was open the curtains and leave, but now there seemed to be a conversational aspect as well. 

‘May I inquire–’ he began anxiously. ‘Oh forget it, where is Sam?’ 

    It was a very good thing that Marigold, in her blissful unawareness of Frodo’s deep distress, held back her laughter. She didn’t know Frodo incredibly well, having only chatted with him briefly at a few public gatherings and gotten the rest of her knowledge firsthand from Sam, and was quite caught off-guard by how direct he was. 

    ‘He’s ill, sir, I’m sorry to say. I’ll be filling in for him today.’ 

‘He’s ill?’ Frodo asked. He sounded awfully defeated, which made Marigold think that he must be a decent employer in spite of his eccentricity, if this news of his gardener should upset him in such a drastic manner. ‘How did he seem when last you saw him?’ 

‘He actually seemed all right this morning,’ Marigold admitted. She hoped this might bring him some cheer, but then realised how it might sound and quickly amended her statement to make sure it didn’t reflect poorly on Sam. ‘But I assure you, he loves his job. He’d never skip a day without good reason. When I last spoke to him, he looked exhausted and his eyes were red. He may be comin’ down with some sort of heat-related ailment that hasn’t fully hit him yet.’    

‘Oh,’ Frodo sighed. ‘This is all my fault.’ Marigold thought he looked like he might cry. 

‘Surely it isn’t, sir,’ Marigold said. ‘It’s sweet of you to care, though. Most wouldn’t. But if Sam worked himself too hard, it’s his own fault. Sorry to sound harsh, but he is my brother, you know. It’s in my nature to remark upon his stubbornness.’

‘It’s more complicated than that,’ Frodo said faintly. ‘Did he say anything about me?’ 

Marigold could lie, as Sam probably wanted her to. Or she could reveal the truth and possibly get more information about this increasingly confusing scenario. 

‘Actually, he did,’ she confessed. ‘He told me that he didn’t want you to come visit him. He said he’ll be fine, but he’s disinclined to conversation at the moment.’

‘How am I to apologise to him then?’ Frodo asked, more to himself than to Marigold. His audible guilt changed her outlook on this substantially. She felt protective over her younger siblings, Sam most of all, and if Frodo had caused him as much grief as he seemed to believe, she was going to make sure he knew which family he was dealing with.

‘He’ll doubtless be back to work in a few days,’ Marigold promised. She hesitated, having more to say but not knowing if she was allowed to say it. However, this wasn’t her permanent job, after all. She could handle a little admonition. ‘Mr. Frodo, may I speak out of turn for a moment?’ 

‘I don’t believe in taking turns in conversation. Your turn is whenever you want it to be, and you may say to me whatever you like,’ Frodo said. This was, as far as Marigold could tell, a classic Baggins-ism, though it was delivered with far less liveliness than she would’ve expected. 

‘Well…I’m sure you did nothin’ of the sort, sir, but if you’ve hurt my brother somehow, I have to tell you that he doesn’t deserve it. Even though he’s a fool sometimes, and granted, I’ve just called him such, he’s got a big heart. I think he’ll accept your apology no matter what, since he truly reveres you, but – and I don’t know the details, sir, so I’m sorry if I’m gettin’ it all wrong– I’d say you could stand to do somethin’ nice for him right about now. He doesn’t think very highly of himself as it is, and if you’ve had cruel words with him, he must be completely crushed.’ 

‘I’d never be cruel to him!’ Frodo insisted. ‘However, I’m afraid he and I have had a horrible misunderstanding, for which I am largely to blame. I must clear it up immediately, though I expect no forgiveness…And even if I receive it, the most that could happen now is a restoration of our previous flighty friendship.’ 

Marigold could tell that Frodo was starting to forget she was in the room. He seemed like he was starting to fall into an internal spiral of one-sided debate. She also wondered at Frodo’s assertion that the most he could stand to gain was friendship with Sam, his implication clearly being that there was something else he wanted. 

Was it possible that Marigold was drawing the correct conclusion here? She thought there could hardly be another explanation. All the pieces fit into place quite nicely, it had to be said. Given how much Sam talked about Frodo and the sorts of things he said, given the symptoms Marigold had observed from the adventures in infatuation of herself and her other siblings, given how lonely and heartbroken Frodo presently seemed, Marigold thought she might be onto something. 

Oh, they’re both fools. She thought. It lifted her spirits. Both lovely fools. There was nothing better than being able to confirm her belief that being high up in society did nothing to prevent occasional imbecility. 

‘I know what he’s said,’ Marigold resolved, ‘But I think you should go down and talk with Sam regardless. I think you’ve both got things to say to each other. I’ll be in the garden.’ 

‘I don’t want to upset him further,’ Frodo said. ‘He wouldn’t want me to seek him out.’

‘There’s risks, sir, in what you’re doin’. That’s how it always is.’ 

He nodded slowly. ‘Thanks, Marigold. I’ll take that into account.’ 

‘Yes, sir,’ she said, shifting towards the doorway. ‘And I’m sorry if I was at all rude.’ 

‘Not a bit, Miss Gamgee. No more than was justified.’ 

‘Cheers, Mr. Frodo,’ she said, heading out. It may have been too early for her to start thinking so, but she was considering that he might be a strange, though entertaining brother-in-law to have.

(She was bitter about one thing, though, which was that she now knew she was doing extra work during the hottest part of the summer solely because others were too busy being in love.)

***

    Bilbo hadn’t heard a word out of Frodo for about a day, save for when he’d requested to take meals in his room. He felt that something unfortunate had happened, but knew that Frodo would not want to talk to him about it, especially not after he’d already interfered so much. Bilbo knew that there were some pains that came along with these things, but he was still counting down the hours until it would be acceptable for him to interrogate his nephew about his foul mood and perhaps offer him a hug or two. 

    ‘I’m off!’ called a voice from the hall. 

Bilbo closed his book and hurried to the library door to catch a glimpse of Frodo. His voice, at least, sounded not-dejected. Bilbo wouldn’t go so far as to say cheerful , but not-dejected was a start. 

‘And where are you off to ?’ Bilbo yelled after him. Frodo, halfway to the door already, did not stop, and Bilbo was forced to follow him. 

 ‘To set things right, or so I hope,’ Frodo said, sounding determined. ‘Who knows! I could be further endangering all my chances at happiness, digging myself into a grave of my own creation, carving my destiny into stone forever!’ He laughed. ‘I really don’t know; I haven’t a plan at all! Alas, here I go! I’ll be back for lunch.’ 

He strode out the front door, turning halfway round to wave at Bilbo before rushing off. Bilbo stood in the front entry, shaking his head in bewilderment. 

‘Pardon my sayin’, sir,’ said Marigold Gamgee, who’d been standing amongst the geraniums, ‘but he’s absolutely mental.’ 

‘Ah, that he is,’ said Bilbo proudly. ‘Would you like some tea, Miss Marigold?’ 

***

    Frodo knocked on the Gamgees’ door, still not knowing what his formal intention was. He’d assumed he could think of a complex and successful strategy on the way over, but his mind had been blank and fluttering the whole time. All he knew was that he had to make sure Sam got the truth delivered to him. At the very least, Frodo wanted him to know three things: 1. That he was sorry, 2. That he’d never intended to ridicule him, and 3. That he loved him. The basic idea was to relay these three things and then leave, giving Sam the time to mull them over and come to a decision. Frodo was trying not to think about how hard it would be to actually get the words out though. He’d never told anyone he loved them before. Not like this, at least. 

    The door opened. Frodo had been hoping it’d be Sam himself, as that would save him the trouble of involving further members of his family, but he had no such luck. 

‘What can I do for you, Mr. Frodo?’ asked Daisy. ‘Is Marigold causin’ you trouble?’ 

‘Is that Frodo Baggins?’ called the Gaffer’s voice from somewhere inside. 

Daisy looked exasperated. ‘No, Da, I’m standin’ here callin’ somebody else Mr. Frodo just for the fun of it.’ 

‘Invite him in, why don’t you?’ 

‘That’s really not necessary, please don’t go to any trouble,’ Frodo maintained. ‘I’m just looking for Sam. Though, if he’s here I suppose I would like to come in.’ 

‘He went for a walk, or somethin’,’ Daisy said. ‘He should be out in the field back behind us. But he said he didn’t want anyone–’ 

‘Thanks, Daisy,’ Frodo said. He all but made a run for the field. As he left, he heard the Gaffer ask Daisy, ‘What was that all about, then?’ 

If he did succeed in his current mission, he supposed that he really would have to, at some point, explain what this was all about. He was not sure if his endeavours would heighten or lower the opinion of him held by the Gamgee household. But he could not spare the time to think on that matter at the moment, as there was only one Gamgee he truly cared about pleasing. 

It was easy enough for Frodo to find Sam. He spotted him almost instantly upon entering into the field, as he was pacing along the grass in the open expanse between treelines. 

Approaching him would be another matter. Frodo figured that if Sam saw him coming and decided to simply hurry the other way, there was nothing to be done. He wasn’t going to chase him down, nor was he going to sneak up on him. He decided just to walk (though his heart was making a compelling argument for a faster pace). If Sam chose to avoid him, this conversation would have to wait until the avoidance came to an end. If worse came to worst, Frodo could corner him when he eventually came back to work in the garden, though that was not his ideal way of going about it. He’d rather start off this apology without there being a social contract keeping the other party from leaving. 

As Frodo drew nearer, he could tell that Sam had spotted him. He made no move to indicate how he felt about this, however. Frodo could not help a small quickening of his walk. 

‘How’d you find me?’ demanded Sam once they were within earshot of each other. ‘Oh, I knew I shouldn’t’ve trusted Mari to keep quiet.’ He had an aura of general gloom about him. 

‘Sam–,’ Frodo began. 

‘I’d appreciate if you went home, sir,’ Sam said. He tried to be discreet about wiping a few tears  off his face. 

Frodo instinctively reached into his breast pocket. ‘Here,’ he said, providing his handkerchief.

‘Don’t y’know when to leave well alone?’ Sam shook his head and started to walk away. 

‘No! No, I don’t!’ Frodo exclaimed, frustrated but unwilling to be deterred. He crammed the rebuffed handkerchief back into his pocket. This got Sam’s attention, at least. ‘I never know how to act, or what the right thing is! I never know what to say! And usually, I don’t let any of that bother me, but if there’s one, just one individual I want respect from, it’s you. I came here to apologise. But if you won’t hear it, that’s fine. If you want to go, by all means, please do. I wouldn’t dream of forcing you to remain, not after the wrongs I’ve committed. However, I’m staying here. In the case that you decide you want to listen to what I have to say.’ With this, Frodo sat down in the grass, feeling a little absurd. 

Sam paused. He glanced at the path leading away, and then stared back at Frodo, who was looking at him hopefully and trying to keep his composure as best one could whilst suffering the pains of uncertain heartache. He thought he might have heard Sam mutter something like oh, help me . He walked a few steps back towards Frodo and sat at a distance from him. 

‘I’ll hear it,’ he said. 

‘Thank you,’ answered Frodo earnestly. He was not going to think about it. He’d be most successful if he could just get as many apologies and declarations out in the open as efficiently as possible without spending time on the order or the formalities. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he said steadily. ‘I’m sorry for reading what you wrote. I’d thought you’d left it for me with the intention of having it read, but I should never have made that assumption without verifying it with you first. Before I go on, I want to say, I enjoyed your poems very much, for what it’s worth. It might not be worth a lot, but there you have it.’

Sam didn’t say anything to this. His face was unreadable, though increasingly florid. 

‘I didn’t even realise they were about me, at first. Bilbo actually had to inform me of that. And I was taken aback when I saw that there was reason in his argument.’ Frodo realised he was getting too far into the narrative details. He decided he needed to speed it up. 

‘Here’s the thing though, Sam. I wasn’t trying to belittle you for any of it. I– I meant what I said. When I asked you to…well, you know. I’m sorry for being so unsympathetic and brash. There are a million different ways I should have gone about it, and I somehow chose the most improper one. But as I mentioned just now, I never know what to say. Or what to do. I would always have messed it up some way or another, as it seems I can’t ever do things the acceptable way, even when it’s something that matters greatly to me. I guess what I’ve been trying to get across is that…the fact of it is, I really do like you. Love you. Have an interest in you.’

Frodo stared at the dewdrops in the grass in front of him, his eyes unfocusing until all he could see was brightness. ‘Whichever one of those statements you find the least alarming. Though they’re all true, anyhow.’

Sam, meanwhile, was still not entirely sure he wasn’t being messed with. Two major beliefs of his were locked in combat: firstly, his inherent understanding of his own social position, one which offered absolutely no gains to Frodo, and secondly, his unwavering trust in Frodo’s complete goodness and kindheartedness. Part of him wanted to lash out and deny everything that he was being told, and part of him wanted to accept it, take Frodo in his arms and kiss him right there in the grass. (Though this was not something Sam would have done in reality, as he had grown up in a very traditional family, and he believed that there was a good deal of courting that needed to be done before the thought of a kiss even surfaced. He was somewhat shocked and admittedly exhilarated to learn that Frodo did not seem to have the same sort of mindset about this.)

‘I acknowledge,’ Frodo was saying, ‘that you might not want to consider me that way anymore, after all the strife I’ve caused. Or that you may never have wanted your feelings towards me to become anything real in the first place. You and I are, um, difficult. Logistically. I’m not too blind to propriety to understand that.’

Frodo still wasn’t looking at him. Sam dearly wished he would. He missed the way that they used to look at each other, usually while they were talking with passion about something that wouldn’t have interested anyone but the two of them. 

‘But I’m going to be frank with you, Sam. In complete honesty, I’m willing to do whatever it takes. You’re my best friend. One of my only friends. I adore you and I always feel so wonderful when you’re with me. I’ve never known anyone who’s appreciated me like you do. And there’s no one else who’s ever expressed romantic interest in me without harbouring ulterior motives. I want to try, Sam. I really want to try.’ He shifted his gaze forward at last, placing a flat gentle hand palm-down on the grass before him, as if in offering. 

Sam didn’t say anything. This was not intended as a rejection, but was rather a symptom of Sam himself being so utterly astonished that he could hardly even remember who he was. (He did know by reason that he should say something, and his thoughts were currently a panicked loop of say something to him! and why aren’t I saying anything? ) 

‘But if you don’t share the feeling, I won’t fault you. One word from you and I will never speak on this subject again.’ 

Sam could only observe the sudden colour in Frodo’s face. For once, Sam did not feel the slightest bit intimidated by him. He was endeared only. 

‘I shall give you some time. I don’t expect a definitive response at this very moment.’ 

Sam nodded his gratitude at this, incapable of verbal expression.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ Frodo said, with shaky resolution. ‘When Friday evening comes around, I’ll be at the Green Dragon having a drink. If you’d like to come join me in…hm, what I will call… an official social engagement, I would be immensely happy. If you decide against it, I will conclude this to be your final answer to everything I have said.’

Sam nodded again.

‘All right,’ said Frodo. His disappointment in not getting a spoken agreement was evident. ‘I’ll go then.’ He stood and backed a few steps away. ‘I wish you well, Sam. I may not always do well by you, but I wish you well. I hope you know that.’

Sam sat in the grass long after Frodo had gone. 

***

Frodo spent the time until Friday replaying what he’d said to Sam and trying to guess whether or not he’d been convincing and heartfelt enough in his declaration of love. 

Marigold continued to work in her brother’s place for the next few days, which Frodo took as a bad sign. Nevertheless, he was a bit glad not to encounter Sam before he’d requested to. He didn’t know what they would’ve talked about, if they’d even have talked at all. The fact that Sam had not come to prematurely refuse Frodo’s offer did give him some hope, but he hadn’t come to accept it either, which made Frodo think that Sam might be having a hard time deciding if he was worth the trouble. This didn’t surprise Frodo, but he couldn’t stop himself from picturing scenarios in which Sam knocked on his door and declared that he couldn’t wait any longer to express his love and affection. 

In short, there had been nothing to indicate the state of the situation either way. 

Bilbo had been trying to get Frodo to talk about it, but Frodo had continuously brushed him off. When Friday evening came, however, Frodo did have to swallow his pride and ask Bilbo’s advice on which waistcoat he should wear to the Dragon. 

‘The hickory-coloured one, of course,’ Bilbo advised, without looking up from the map he was currently studying. ‘It won’t stain as poorly as the red if you get ale spilled on you.’ 

‘You foresee me drinking myself into a stupor, then?’ Frodo said flatly. 

‘You must be prepared for any eventuality,’ Bilbo remarked. ‘Besides, it’s best to be understated. Let your personality be the flashy thing, not your clothes. And, well, remember to be kind in…whatever it is you’re doing.’ 

‘Sure,’ answered Frodo. He was somewhat suspicious of how much his uncle had figured out. He headed back towards his room to get changed, but Bilbo, as always, had to throw in one last comment. 

‘Are you bringing him flowers?’ 

‘I…thought of it,’ Frodo confessed. ‘But I don’t know if it’s right. Him having grown our flowers and all.’ 

‘Good lad, I shouldn’t underestimate your caring.’ 

Frodo could tell Bilbo was dying to give out more tips, but he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Nevertheless, he did take Bilbo’s advice with regards to his clothing, though spitefully, making sure to leave Bag End before Bilbo could see the attire he’d actually gone with. (Plus, he was incredibly nervous, and, knowing this would be visible to his uncle, wanted to avoid any additional conversations that might hold him up.)

When Frodo arrived at the tavern, he saw no sign of Sam yet, though he had to look around the entire place multiple times. It was far more crowded than he’d expected, Frodo having never desired to visit the establishment during peak hours and thus never having known the atmosphere of a rowdy Friday evening. 

It was barely evening, at that. The sun was still peaking above the horizon, lingering in the warm summer air. Frodo had designed it so that he would be there at the earliest possible moment that could be considered evening. In the case that Sam did show, he didn’t want to miss him. He was starting to realise he should have mapped out a more specific timeframe, as it was possible with his ambiguous invitation that he’d be waiting for hours. 

Once again getting the sense that he was no good at this, Frodo decided to order himself a drink. He found a seat at the bar where he’d be visible enough to anyone who might be looking for him, though the bar itself was packed, and he was surrounded on all sides by a noisy mass of hobbits who were clearly all on their second or third drink. 

‘Well, I’ll be!’ said the lad tending the bar. He wasn’t someone Frodo recognised, which spoke to his own infrequency as a customer. ‘It must be a good night for business if Frodo Baggins is here!’

‘I’ll just have a drink, thank you,’ Frodo asserted, raising his voice over the noise. ‘You can leave off the amazement at my presence.’ 

‘Yes, sir,’ said the barman with a chuckle. (He’d noticed that Frodo kept staring back at the door. He eagerly hoped to soon find out what kind of company this patron of his expected. It wasn’t often that Frodo was seen at the Dragon without his uncle, and the barman had a wonderful suspicion that one of the most mysterious hobbits in the Shire was about to meet publicly with a sweetheart of his. This, he thought, would make some excellent gossip. The trouble was that half the things gossipped about at this particular tavern on busy nights were either blatant falsehoods or drunken misconstruals of mundane situations. None of it was ever to be believed, though it was all exceptionally fun to talk about.)

Frodo was given his first flagon of ale, which he drank slowly, on constant lookout for Sam. Though the room was becoming ever fuller by the minute, he was confident that he wouldn’t overlook Sam’s entrance. After he’d finished his ale, however, he became increasingly downhearted about the likelihood of Sam coming at all. 

He tried to tell himself that this outcome should’ve been the one to expect, and that he’d get over his forlorn feelings eventually, given a little time. But he could not help but feel like he’d come so close to having something great before wrecking all his chances by speaking his mind. 

That’s what I get for being me, after all , he thought. There’s not a fool in the world who’d take a chance with someone so cracked and disordered . 

‘I’ll have another drink,’ Frodo decided, letting go of the air of dignity he’d allowed himself while there had still been hope for him. 

‘Right away, sir,’ said the barman, sliding another flagon Frodo’s way. 

Frodo reached into his pocket to pull out a gold piece with which to pay for the drink. The barman held up a flat hand, in refusal. 

‘I won’t take your money, Mr. Baggins. Your drink’s paid for.’ 

‘I haven’t paid yet,’ Frodo argued. He might be in the throes of personal despair, but he was not going to cheat an innocent hobbit out of some honest income. 

‘It’s been paid for, sir,’ the barman explained, as if this was a customary understanding, and Frodo was the only one confused. ‘It’s been bought for you.’

‘By whom?’ Frodo asked. 

‘By him.’ Frodo followed his pointing finger to a small table in the centre of it all, at which was sitting Sam Gamgee. 

Sam caught Frodo’s eye and gave him a sheepish smile. He raised his own flagon in both salute and invitation. 

Frodo grabbed his drink and rushed to join him, hardly able to believe that he’d actually come, and furthermore, that he’d bought Frodo a drink with his own money. 

The barman turned to the lass working with him and pointed Frodo and his companion out to her. 

‘You dimwit,’ the barmaid said. ‘That’s just Sam, he’s his gardener.’ 

‘His gardener’s buyin’ him drinks?’ 

The barmaid shrugged. ‘You never know with the Bagginses of Bag End. Always up to their antics. He’s probably pulling some odd sort of joke.’ 

The two of them got back to work without another word on the subject, though the barman remained sceptical. 

Frodo stood next to Sam’s table. It was a table for two.

‘May I?’ he asked. 

‘Of course, sir,’ Sam said warmly. 

Frodo sat down. 

‘I didn’t see you come in.’ 

‘There’s lots of folk here,’ Sam said. ‘And I mighta been tryin’ to be a little subtle.’ (Sam had actually entered in through the backdoor. It was almost exactly the same as the front door, save for the fact that its existence was not known to Frodo.)

‘Thanks for the drink. You didn’t have to do that.’ 

‘Wanted to,’ Sam explained. He sounded embarrassed. 

Frodo took a sip of his ale. He didn’t know whether he should apologise again or take Sam’s presence as acceptance of his previous apology and move on to…whatever came next. 

‘Mr. Frodo, I’m glad you asked me here,’ Sam began. It seemed almost like he’d rehearsed this. ‘I’m not angry with you or nothin’. I don’t think you actually did anythin’ wrong. It just scared me at first, that you knew it all without me tellin’ you. I never did plan to tell you. But I know your intentions were good, even if I’m still a little daunted by what happened. And honestly, I’m findin’ your side of it hard to understand, in terms of feelings and all, but if you truly think of me that way, I’d like to try too.’

Frodo’s heart warmed (along with his face). He had a lot of work to do before he could prove himself worthy of someone so thoughtful and amiable as Sam. 

‘Thank you, Sam,’ he said. ‘That means so much to me. And I’m sorry again about the poems, though I don’t think you should stop writing them. You do have a talent, and I’d hate for you to give it up because of me.’ 

‘Well, that’s flatterin’ to hear, and perhaps I will keep on with it, but for tonight, I’d rather you forget about that whole deal. What I’ve said in those things, it’s not proper stuff for an early courtship. Not modest enough, y’know? Far too forward.’ He shook his head, staring down. 

‘Oh, and I’ve been the modest one?’ Frodo almost laughed. 

‘I guess not, sir.’ Sam did laugh. 

Frodo reached out his hand, and the eagerness with which Sam took it briefly distracted him from his next point. 

‘If you want me to put aside what I’ve read, I certainly will. But that means you must tell me what you think of me now. I’d rather hear it directly from you anyways.’

‘I don’t know if I can say it, sir,’ Sam said, with some distress. ‘Not while we’re so close like this and you’re holdin’ my hand.’

‘I can let go,’ Frodo offered. ‘Though that wouldn’t be ideal for me.’ He felt himself smile, and he thought he probably looked rather stupid. 

‘No, it’s all right,’ said Sam. Frodo expected him to look away again, but he instead gazed straight into Frodo’s eyes as he said the next part. ‘I think you’re a mighty agreeable hobbit, in both looks and mannerisms. And anythin’ that others happen to find queer about you, I find really very charming.’ 

‘Ah.’ Frodo grinned to himself. He didn’t know which aspects of that confession to focus on. He was discovering that he was perhaps more vain than he’d previously imagined, as he kept coming back to the fact that Sam found him attractive. It was one thing to read it in writing and assume it from the factual knowledge that they shared feelings for each other, but it was quite another to hear it said out loud. 

‘I mean, y’must know how interesting and brilliant and fair you are,’ Sam said. ‘It’s a wonder everyone’s not heartbroken over you.’ 

‘You’re one to talk,’ Frodo challenged good-naturedly. ‘Folk are always going on about you. Samwise Gamgee, who’s good and honest, kind to everyone, humble and sweet, traditional and handsome.’ Frodo was learning that verbal sparring was just as rewarding with compliments as it was with jabs and insults. (However, looking back on it, he’d only ever truly thrown sly disputes with Bilbo, as with Sam, praise had always been his weapon of choice).

‘You’re makin’ that up, Mr. Frodo,’ Sam said, blushing.

‘Am not, Master Samwise.’ 

Sam snickered. ‘Well, don’t go callin’ me that, sir!’ 

‘And whyever not, sir? I imagine that we must be equals if we are to pursue this, and if you will not give up the use of honorifics with me, I will simply have to begin using them with you.’

‘I suppose I could try and drop the habit, Frodo,’ Sam said, testing it out. 

‘Much appreciated, Samwise.’ 

Sam’s pleasant expression faltered. ‘Just Sam, if you please.’ He took a sip of his drink.

‘You don’t like your full name?’ asked Frodo, who thought it a stoic name, one a hero in a book might have. 

‘It’s not a very good name, is it? Meanin’ I’m half-witted and all.’

‘Huh, I guess I’d never thought of it,’ Frodo said. He truthfully had not made the connection until now. No wonder Sam had such a lowly perception of himself, his very own name an indignity! ‘I’ve always just liked the sound of your name. Both versions. Maybe I’m a little half-witted myself for not realising.’ 

There was so much that Frodo had never thought to ask about. 

‘You’re not, you know,’ he said, feeling suddenly protective over Sam. ‘Half-witted, or simple, or whatever you think.’ He squeezed Sam’s hand. This was bordering on being the longest he’d ever held a hand. It felt hilariously salacious. ‘You’re more clever than you realise, and I admire you a lot.’

‘I might just let you call me Samwise after all,’ Sam said. ‘If you’re gonna be that sweet about it.’ 

‘Would you like to dance with me then, Samwise?’

‘Oh, I’d be honoured, sir,’ Sam answered excitedly. 

‘Try that once more?’ Frodo suggested with a smirk. 

‘That’d be nice, Frodo,’ Sam corrected. 

Not letting go of Sam’s hand, Frodo stood and began to lead them both towards the area where folks were dancing. He knew the dances wouldn’t be as formal or as organised as the ones he’d experienced whilst among the upper classes, but they’d be far more boisterous and alive. And best of all, there’d be no crude whisperings about his sharing a dance with Sam, as everyone danced with everyone here, no matter their status or circumstance. The boldest assumption that would be made about them was that they were both a bit too drunk for their own good.  

As Frodo and Sam navigated their way to the other side of the tavern, Frodo spotted a once-welcome but now-disagreeable sight. Right in their intended path stood his cousins Merry and Pippin, leaning their backs against the bar and talking passionately about which years produced the best ales. They were so involved in this conversation that Frodo thought he and Sam might be able to slip by unnoticed, but they were blessed with no such fortune. 

‘Frodo!’ yelled Pippin. ‘And Sam, what luck!’ 

‘Greetings, cousins,’ Frodo said, very neutrally. ‘What exactly are you doing here?’ 

‘We never miss Green Dragon ale on a Friday!’ Merry insisted. ‘You’d know that if you accepted our drinking invites more often. That’s really on you, Frodo.’

‘This is just what I was hoping for! You two should join–’ Pippin trailed off, seeming to catch notice of their clasped hands and apprehensive expressions. ‘–join us next time, that is! Go on and enjoy yourselves now, we’ll catch you another night. 

‘Pip, don’t be ridiculous!’ Merry interjected. ‘Come on, we’ll buy you each a drink and we can all find a table together.’ 

‘I’ve really had about enough to drink tonight, thanks,’ said Frodo. He was aware of how uncomfortable this must be making Sam, and in his head he was already thinking of twenty different ways to apologise for the behaviour of his relatives. 

‘Well, we all know you’re no fun, Frodo. But I’ve a lot of ideas I’d like to talk over with you, you know, about my project to find you a match. We can do that while Pippin and Sam get some refills.’ 

‘Merry,’ said Pippin, ‘You are completely unskilled in anything relating to romance, and I’m seconds away from dragging you out of here by your hair.’ 

Frodo was delighted to hear Sam laugh at this. 

‘What? Why?’ Merry asked, his offence equal parts comedic and authentic. ‘I’m aggrieved by this accusation! Frodo, back me up, please.’ 

‘Sorry,’ Frodo said, making no effort to sound sorry.  

‘Sam?’ 

Sam shrugged. ‘I don’t feel qualified to speak on it, Mr. Merry.’

‘This is injustice,’ Merry asserted, crossing his arms.  

‘I’ll explain it to you later,’ Pippin offered. To Frodo and Sam, he said ‘You fellas can get back to it while I sort him out.’ 

As the two of them gratefully took this queue to walk away, Frodo glanced back just in time to see Pippin whisper something to Merry, whose eyes were slowly widening. 

‘They’re sure a pair, ain’t they?’ Sam remarked, humour in his voice. 

‘A pair of headaches, certainly,’ Frodo griped. ‘I feel the need to repent on their behalf.’

‘They’re just bein’ familial. I weren’t offended in the least.’ 

‘I do feel some satisfaction in being able to discredit Merry as a matchmaker,’ Frodo said. ‘Though I’m sure he’ll find a way to claim responsibility for our getting together.’ 

They’d just about reached the dancing floor, though Sam stopped to look at Frodo before they could take their places. 

‘You think you’ll tell your family about me? You’re that serious?’ 

 This question threw Frodo into a small panic, as he was only now considering that he shouldn’t have talked so definitely when it came to him and Sam. After all, wasn’t his overconfidence the exact thing that had gotten him into trouble in the first place? 

‘Forgive me, Sam, I didn’t mean to imply anything. I know this is quite new, and I wouldn’t dare start revealing things if there’s uncertainty for either of us.’ 

 ‘Not an ounce of uncertainty for me, Frodo,’ Sam proclaimed. As if to prove his argument, he put an arm around Frodo’s waist, took his hand, and positioned them for a dance. 

‘Oh. Well. All right,’ said Frodo. He was extremely caught off guard by both the statement and the assertive gesture. 

The music lulled and started up again, signifying the beginning of a new dance. It was a simple tune that Frodo knew, so he could absently follow the steps while Sam led. It was nothing like the previous time they’d danced together; Frodo had traded in his easy laughter and quick commentary for a giddy nervous feeling and an over-awareness of every place in which he was currently being touched. 

‘I just meant to say,’ Sam continued, ‘that I was surprised you’d want other hobbits of your standing to know that you’re out and about with a mere gardener.’

They reached a quick spin in the dance, and Frodo tripped a bit. Sam’s hold on him tightened comfortingly.

‘Gardening is the most honourable profession I can think of, and I wouldn’t have you ashamed of it. And I’ve never cared at all for the opinions of other hobbits of my standing,’ Frodo maintained. ‘Besides, it serves them all just right. My uncle is allegedly odd for not marrying; they all think they can get me to be more interested in things of that sort, and it turns out I am, but only when it comes to you. If I’m labelled any type of uncouth for it, it will just be too perfect. My peculiarity will be set in stone for good!’ 

‘It almost sounds like a scheme, when you put it like that,’ Sam said, his tone light. 

Realising it did sound that way, Frodo rushed to amend what he’d said. ‘Oh, never! Don’t listen to a thing I say, really! I wouldn’t dare use you that way. Er, despite the fact that I sort of…already did. Which I am sorry about. Did I ever apologise for that?’ It confounded Frodo that every time he attempted to set the mood of the conversation in an affectionate way, his clumsiness always came back to get him in the end. He’d never thought himself an exceptionally poor speaker, but he was starting to believe he lacked practice in sincere exchanges of emotion.  

‘You mean when you had me pretend to be engaged to you?’ Sam asked. 

‘Yes, don’t remind me.’ Frodo looked down at his feet, which very nearly made him trip again. ‘It was painfully ill-advised. I think it’s in my nature, or maybe my upbringing, to concoct outlandish plots in order to avoid acknowledgement of my own personal problems. That’s another thing you’ll have to watch out for with me.’

‘Oh, I found it funny,’ Sam assured. He adjusted his grip on Frodo’s hand and continued the dance. ‘And necessary, given the circumstances. I mean, you were helpin’ a friend, which was noble. And I was a bit flattered, anyhow.’

Frodo sighed in relief. ‘I’m glad you haven’t been bothered about it. But my point is, I didn’t do that solely for the sake of upsetting etiquette and I’m not here tonight for that purpose either. I promise. I don’t want to give off the impression that I’m self-absorbed. It’s true that I do hold a passionate dislike for stuffy rules, but the love I have for you is far stronger of a feeling.’ 

‘That might be just about the most romantic thing I ever heard from you,’ Sam teased. His eyes were gentle on Frodo. 

‘I’m trying,’ Frodo responded. 

On the opportunity of their next turn, Sam pulled Frodo closer and murmured against his ear, ‘You’re doin’ just fine, if I’ve any say in it.’ 

Frodo was utterly stupefied and put out of commission by this comment (and more so by the manner in which it was delivered). He was later astounded at himself for managing to complete the entire dance without collapsing into a mess of flustery. 

 Luckily, the dance ended soon afterwards and another lively song began to play. Frodo also knew the customary steps to this one, as it was a common festival ditty. The dance was one for the whole group, as it involved a lot of switching of partners until eventually everyone ended up back with the one they’d started with (that was the idea, anyway. More often than not, those performing the dance were either too inebriated to remember the order of partners they’d danced with and had yet to dance with, or else had designs upon a specific individual, which confused the process by adding an element of eagerness). 

Because dancing was unfortunately one of the few things Frodo did take seriously, he committed to completing the motions in the intended way despite his unhappiness at having to part with Sam. 

Since Sam had been the one leading (about which no complaint could be had), Frodo, as the one being led, ended up being partnered with quite a few other lads during this dance, which he found immensely comical. Frodo had the advantage of being comfortable in any situation in which there was a laugh to be had, but many of his partners looked downright scandalised at having to dance with him. For some, this was perhaps their own discomfort at the prospect of dancing with another lad, but for most, their hesitancy was likely directed at the premise of dancing with a lad who was Frodo Baggins, about whom many of them had both heard and spread less-than-polite rumours.

The couple of lasses Frodo ended up with, however, were more kind-spirited towards their brief partnership. They were, like him, on some level non-traditional, having taken on the leading role either because they thought it’d be more entertaining, or because they’d initially been dancing with another lass. On the whole, they seemed far less uptight. 

The lasses Sam danced with, on the other hand, were rather excited to have him as a partner, though they’d ultimately become frustrated when he kept looking past them, apparently searching for someone else in the room. 

The tune began to draw to a close, and Frodo’s last partner spun him into the centre of the dance floor, where he was caught by his trustworthy Samwise. 

Happy to be back in Sam’s arms, Frodo pulled him into an embrace and pressed their foreheads together. 

‘Hullo, Mr. Frodo,’ Sam chuckled. Frodo almost corrected him on his honorific usage, though the way he’d said Mr. Frodo this time around seemed a little satirical. 

‘Hi, Sam,’ said Frodo.

Frodo thought of kissing him right then and there, but he came to his senses just in time. He was not going to be the one to initiate anything of that nature when it had made Sam so uncomfortable the last time. Even though they were on better terms now, Frodo wanted to allow Sam to be the one to make that decision. Plus, the atmosphere was not ideal. This was all very public, and Sam likely had friends and family at the tavern. 

Though Frodo did not know it, they were being watched by a couple of those friends at that very moment, whose expressions were suspended halfway between awe and amusement. Merry Brandybuck was also watching and trying incredibly hard to be happy for his cousin through his glum and reluctant acceptance of his own ignorance. 

‘Face it Merry,’ Pippin said to him. ‘You’ve got to give it up. Frodo got to it before you could. Frodo . Our most hopeless and aloof relative, save for Bilbo. Your services are not required.’

‘Perhaps I can’t take credit for that,’ Merry admitted, gesturing vaguely at Frodo and Sam. ‘But how was I to guess he’d want to court his gardener? He’s far too unpredictable. You, on the other hand, are very predictable.’ Merry looked at his cousin mischievously. 

‘Oh no,’ said Pippin, miserably. 

Meanwhile, Frodo and Sam had returned to their table, having gotten tired of dancing and recently landed on the idea of sharing some onion soup and warm, hearty bread. 

‘I would’ve liked to make a meal for you myself,’ Frodo said when they received their food. ‘But I fear you’d be very against me if you tasted my cooking.’

‘I have tasted your cooking,’ Sam reminded. 

Frodo was horrified to recall that this was true. He’d once tried to make meat pies and had offered one to Sam. He’d been hoping it would impress him, which he wouldn't have admitted at the time, but now knew to be the case. Sam had pretended, unconvincingly, that he enjoyed it. Suspecting that he didn’t actually like the meat pie very much, Frodo had asked Bilbo to try one. Bilbo later baked Sam a batch of muffins, as an apology. 

Frodo buried his face in his hands. ‘I’ll never recover your opinion of me,’ he lamented, melodramatically. 

Sam burst out laughing. Frodo felt instant relief. He had always loved to make Sam laugh, and it seemed like he was getting better and better at it of late. 

Abruptly, Sam fell silent. Frodo did not have to wonder why for long. Standing next to their table, as if she had appeared from nowhere, was his sister, May. 

‘Evenin’, Sammy,’ said May, smirking. 

‘Your sisters call you Sammy?’ Frodo asked, unable to resist. 

‘Only when they’re makin’ fun of me,’ Sam responded, glowering at May. ‘What’re you here for?’ 

‘I’m havin’ a drink, lay off,’ May said. 

‘Why’ve you come to talk to me then?’ 

‘I drew the short straw,’ May explained. ‘Hypothetically speakin’. Since I’m your sister. You see, Jolly an’ a couple of your other friends are here, and they’ve appointed me their representative.’ 

‘Representative for what?’ Frodo wondered, curious. 

‘Thanks for askin’, Mr. Frodo,’ May said, a twinkle in her eye. ‘They wanted me to inquire as to whether or not the two of you are…’ she rubbed her chin thoughtfully, ‘…mutual admirers of sorts. They sure didn’t put it as eloquently as I do, however.’

‘That ain’t their business,’ Sam said indignantly. ‘And you can tell ‘em that.’ 

‘Very well,’ May relented. ‘But it’s my business. And if you’re going to be coy, it could be our dear father’s business as well.’ 

‘You wouldn’t dare, May Gamgee!’ 

‘Would indeed, Samwise!’ 

Frodo watched this exchange with sympathy for Sam, and maybe a small amount of enjoyment at the way he and his sister bickered. 

‘Fine,’ said Sam, in defeat. ‘Him and me, we’re together.’ Turning to Frodo he asked, with some trepidation, ‘We’re together, ain’t we?’ 

Frodo nodded and gave a blissful smile. It was fantastic to hear it stated so factually.  

‘Happy to hear it!’ May exclaimed. To Frodo, she said, ‘I thought he’d never have the guts to ask anyone; I feared he’d be alone forever. Of course, I knew it’d be you if ever he did, but I never suspected you’d accept–’ 

‘All right, May,’ Sam interrupted, sheepishly. ‘Just don’t tell anyone yet, please.’ 

‘Got it,’ she affirmed. ‘I swear my oath to you.’ Then, marching back towards the table of Sam’s friends at the other side of the tavern, she yelled, ‘He said it ain’t your business, you louts!’ 

‘Well,’ Sam said reluctantly, ‘you’ve got your family, I’ve got mine. There you have it.’ 

‘Your sisters are a delight,’ answered Frodo, being completely genuine. 

‘I hope you don’t take no offence to me askin’ her not to tell anyone,’ Sam said. ‘I’d just rather it not get around before we’ve the opportunity to say somethin’ ourselves.’ 

‘Oh, I understand. I imagine you wouldn’t want your Gaffer hearing it from any of his drinking mates before he hears it from you.’ 

Sam seemed to shudder at the very thought. ‘I think he’d have my head if some gossipy old hobbit was the first to tell him that the heir of Bag End was havin’ Samwise Gamgee for a suitor!’

‘My, we really are a bit indecent, aren’t we?’ Frodo marvelled. 

‘I even work for you and everythin’.’  Sam looked bashful, and even slightly worried. 

‘You work for my uncle,’ Frodo corrected. ‘I’m merely a friend.’ 

‘Right. A friend,’ Sam said wryly. ‘That’s what you are.’ 

The nature of Sam’s stare in that moment forced Frodo to break their eye contact. He was suddenly conscious of how warm the room felt. He was sure he’d never been gazed at in such a way before. Sam had always had an air of companionability in his expression, but this was something separate and greater. It made Frodo feel understood, beloved, and wanted all at once. There was also something a little playful about it, as though they had a secret, which, possibly, they did. 

‘Stop that!’ Frodo mock-demanded. ‘You must stop looking at me like that, you’re making me forget my point! You distract me! I can tell you’ve got ideas in your head.’ 

‘Sorry,’ said Sam, sounding quite satisfied with himself. 

‘My point was,’ Frodo continued, wanting to return to seriousness for the moment, at least, ‘I know it’ll be hard for us at first, the way everyone in Hobbiton loves to have something to be appalled by, but I want you to know that I’ll accept and assist with anything you need to do or say to make yourself and your family more comfortable with it. And I give you my word that Bilbo and I will both shun and defame any of our pompous extended family members who dare to speak a word against you.’

‘It don’t worry me much,’ Sam said. ‘It should, I know it should, but I’m just so happy with you. I needn’t think about the rest while I’m busy bein’ happy. And if it ruins any reputation I’ve got, I’d say my reputation was due for a good ruinin’ anyway.’ 

‘That’s the spirit.’ Frodo beamed. ‘And you make me happy too. I’m glad you were willing to look past what a mess I am about this stuff.’

Sam reached across the table and took both of Frodo’s hands. ‘You ain’t conventional, that’s for sure, and I’m still gettin’ used to that, even after all these years. But it’s what I love about you.’ He looked around quickly to ensure that no one had eyes on them, and then he kissed each hand he held. 

Frodo had no choice but to bask in these tender, honest words. 

***

    ‘I’ll walk you home,’ Sam offered.

    ‘Shouldn’t I walk you home?’ Frodo asked. He’d assumed this was going to be the case, since he’d been the one to initiate the invitation for the outing in the first place. 

‘Oh dear,’ Sam said. ‘We’ve reached a standstill. I haven’t a clue who’s right.’ 

    They’d finished their meal at the Green Dragon and had talked together until the noise got so raucous that they could barely hear each other anymore. Sam, caring as he was, had noticed that Frodo was starting to get uncomfortable with the crowd, and had suggested that they leave. They now stood outside trying to figure out their arrangements for the end of the evening. 

    The soft sounds of the night were jarring compared with the music and chatter of the tavern, and it both relieved and displaced Frodo. He was also losing a bit of confidence now that he and Sam were alone.

    ‘You can walk me,’ Frodo suggested. ‘By numbers alone, there’s less chance for a run-in with a family member. But I must warn you, if Bilbo’s still awake and he sees me having a good time, he’ll begin the teasing immediately. He’s missed doing it in the past week or so. His moral code prevents him from badgering me when I’m in melancholic moods.’ 

    ‘You’ve been sad of late?’ Sam asked, sounding concerned. 

    ‘Only over you,’ Frodo said, with a bit of amusement. ‘I was practically tragic.’ 

‘I’m sorry–’ Sam began.

‘My own fault, Samwise,’ Frodo reminded him. ‘Anyway, I believe you’re supposed to be walking me somewhere?’ He held out his arm. Sam took it, his own arm warm against the slight chill of the night. Frodo wanted very badly to be held by him. 

They began their journey down the lane. Frodo realised that Sam was walking a little slower than he usually did, as if he was savouring it. 

He doesn’t want to leave me , Frodo thought. He likes me that much . 

‘You’re awfully good to me,’ Frodo said. ‘I never thought anyone would want to treat me like this.’ 

‘That’s nonsense, why d’you think that, Frodo?’ 

‘Whenever anyone who isn’t Bilbo talks of me favourably, they talk of my fortune. And nothing else. I guess I just assumed the only value I had in terms of partnership was monetary. Don’t get me wrong, I like who I am, but I never suspected…I didn’t think anyone else would like it as well.’ 

‘Well, I like you lots, and I’m sure not after your wealth!’ Sam proclaimed, as if there was a doubt about this. ‘A Gamgee doesn’t take money unless he’s earned it. We’re not a cheatin’ family.’ 

‘Oh, I know Sam,’ said Frodo genially. ‘That’s why I’m so astounded. There’s not a chance you’re tricking me. I can’t say that about a good deal of gentlefolk.’ 

‘So you’ll believe me when I say I find you captivatin’?’ 

Frodo could hardly think with how light those words made him feel, but he did believe them. 

‘Yes, and you’ve no idea how incredible it feels to hear that from someone so kind and good-looking as yourself.’ 

‘Good-looking?’ 

‘Of course,’ said Frodo. He was shocked that Sam somehow seemed not to understand it. This called for a disclosure of one of Frodo’s most shameful habits. ‘Sometimes I come out to the garden just to look at you.’

‘You’ve got me confused with a plant, Frodo,’ Sam responded, though his voice had gone a bit soft, so Frodo was convinced that what he was doing was working on some level. He remembered that Marigold had said Sam didn’t have a high opinion of himself. This did seem to be the case, though Frodo had plans to change that, one overly-friendly compliment at a time. 

‘I don’t imagine a plant would look as fetching in that vest as you do.’ It came out in a tone that was a good deal bolder than Frodo had meant it to sound. He’d thought throwing these types of statements around would be similar to the jests he often produced in his daily life, but there was also an inherent vulnerability to it that he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t about humour this time. Frodo really found the way Sam was dressed to be excessively pleasing. 

‘It’s quite odd hearin’ you talk like that,’ Sam said, his voice faint and full of disbelief. ‘To me, especially.’ 

‘I’m dearly hoping you’ll get used to it.’ Still feeling some residual boldness, Frodo took his arm from Sam’s grasp and chose to put it around his shoulders instead, drawing the two of them ever closer.

Sam, who had been in somewhat of a daze all night, was only just now understanding how real and absolute this was. 

Frodo cared for him, had danced with him, had held his hand and told him he looked nice. Frodo was implying that he’d like this to be a permanent thing, that he wanted to go on another outing with Sam, and possibly another after that, and another. Sam’s head felt cloudy, and he thought he might need to hurry home and spend another few days thinking about how to talk to Frodo. He was terrified to realise that he might very well need to ask his sisters for some advice. If they could help him find ways to impress and excite as a companion, he’d be willing to take on any ribbing and taunting he’d receive from admitting that he could use a little help. 

They walked the rest of the way to Bag End in half-silence, enjoying the clear night air and the myriad of stars that shone above. Every now and then, Sam would catch Frodo looking at him with an affectionate smile, and he’d laugh nervously, which caused Frodo to do the same. 

When they got to the gate, Sam held it open for Frodo and walked him up to the front door. 

‘Thanks for doin’ this,’ Sam said. ‘I know you’re not always one to enjoy goin’ out in public, but I’m glad you did it for me.’ 

‘It was no issue in the slightest, Samwise,’ Frodo replied. Sam had a feeling that one of the things he’d never get used to about this was the way Frodo said his full name with such ardent intonation. ‘I much prefer the crowd at the Green Dragon to the dullness of the other parties I’m invited to. Plus, you do have a way of making me forget my discomfort.’ 

‘Still,’ Sam insisted, ‘we’ll do something more to your own liking next time.’ 

‘Well, I usually spend my Friday nights reading in bed.’ 

Sam had an unseemly vision of the two of them lying in bed together, his own arms curled around Frodo as his head rested on Frodo’s shoulder and Frodo read from an elegant book of his choosing. He then pictured the two of them falling asleep that way. 

‘We’ll do that, then,’ he said weakly. 

Frodo nodded, his cheeks darkening in colour. Sam wondered if he was imagining the same thing. 

‘I suppose this is goodnight?’ Frodo asked, looking towards the door disappointedly. 

‘I suppose,’ Sam said. 

Frodo hesitated for a few seconds before taking a step back from Sam. ‘All right. I had a wonderful evening.’

Sam knew what that hesitation was about. It involved one thing, chiefly. One thing that Sam didn’t want to part without either. He could tell that Frodo had resolved not to bring it up, having humbled himself after what had happened last time. 

‘Frodo,’ he said, as Frodo reached for the doorknob. 

Frodo turned back to look at him. 

‘You can kiss me, if you like.’ 

Sam knew that this would be considered highly impolite with anyone else, them having only just begun their partnership, but given that it was Frodo (a self-proclaimed enemy of formality), Sam thought he could afford to concede a little politeness. 

‘Really?’ Frodo asked, a gleeful smile gracing his lips. 

‘Only if you’re comfortable with it,’ Sam clarified. ‘I wouldn’t wanna rush you into–’ 

Frodo placed both his hands on Sam’s shoulders and raised himself so that he was standing on the tips of his toes. 

‘My dear Sam,’ he said, his face getting closer to Sam’s. ‘I would be more than honoured.’ 

Their lips were together in an instant, and Sam found himself wrapping his arms around Frodo and pulling him closer. Frodo seemed to approve of this, judging from the ‘Mm’ sound he made against Sam’s mouth.

Sam felt Frodo’s fingers in his hair. He’d never felt anything so nice. His own hands were full of the fabric of Frodo’s shirt and waistcoat. Sam was trying to memorise what it was like to feel him.

Sam knew that, in addition to this being an overhasty kiss, it was also a much-too-long one. However, Frodo didn’t seem to mind. And if they broke apart, Sam would have to think of something to say, and at this moment, he knew that the only thing his head would’ve supplied for him was your lips are very soft. This would’ve been an inane observation to voice, Sam thought. Besides, if he said it, he’d probably forget to breathe all the way home. (There was actually a good chance of him doing that anyway, by the looks of it.)

Eventually, Frodo drew back, looking disoriented. 

‘I know it wouldn’t be customary,’ he breathed, ‘but I’d like to do that just one more time before you leave.’ 

‘Who’s keepin’ count, anyway?’ Sam said, before leaning in again. 

*** 

    Bilbo was all for letting Frodo have his fun, but there was only so long he could go on pretending not to notice that his nephew and his gardener were necking on his own front doorstep. 

    After all, Frodo seemed to have fully recovered from his depressive state, and could do with another embarrassment as a way of making sure his ego didn’t get out of control. Bilbo was fairly sure that was just good parenting. 

    He pulled out his pocketwatch and counted down from ten to give the lads a bit of an extra grace period. 

    He then swung open the door and jovially said, ‘My, the nerve of you!’ 

    Sam instantly took his hands off Frodo and stiffened his posture. While Frodo looked absolutely furious, he did not change his positioning at all. 

    ‘I apologise, sir,’ Sam said, his eyes wide and fearful. 

    ‘Oh, not you, Sam,’ Bilbo waved him off, allowing him some pity. ‘Just don’t let too many of Frodo’s bad manners rub off on you. He’s a bit indecorous, if you haven’t noticed.’

    ‘You couldn’t give me but a minute?’ Frodo argued, finally taking his hands out of Sam’s hair in order to make a sweeping gesture of frustration. 

    ‘I gave you several,’ Bilbo pointed out. 

    Frodo had nothing to say in retaliation. It was considerably easier to win an argument with him under these circumstances. 

    ‘Sam, do you think I might be able to have my nephew back for the night?’ 

    ‘Yes, sir,’ said Sam. 

    ‘Thank you kindly,’ said Bilbo. He opened the door a bit wider and ushered Frodo inside. Frodo complied, but not before flashing one last smile at Sam and giving him a small wave. 

    Sam returned the wave, though his face still portrayed a look of shock. 

    ‘May I have a word with you before you go, Samwise?’ Bilbo stepped in front of the door and closed it most of the way so that Frodo was shut out of the conversation. He still lurked behind the door though, as he, like his uncle, was a famous eavesdropper. 

    ‘Sure, Mr. Bilbo,’ said Sam, though he sounded as though he’d just been asked to complete the most dreadful task in the world. 

    ‘Oh, lighten up, Sam Gamgee! I’m not about to tell you off!’ 

    ‘You’re not, sir?’ 

    ‘Of course not, dear lad!’ Bilbo insisted. ‘I want to apologise to you for the prying role I played in all this. Though it appears to have worked out for the best, I believe I might have imposed a bit too frequently.’

    ‘An absolute epiphany!’ said Frodo from behind the door. 

    ‘It’s all right, sir,’ Sam said. ‘It seems like you helped us along a good deal, from what I’ve heard.’ 

    ‘That’s precisely what he wants you to say!’ Frodo called again. ‘You’re encouraging him!’ 

    Bilbo chuckled. ‘Ah, perhaps he has a point. But Sam, I did have a purpose in all this which is–hm, what was it? Oh, yes.’ He opened the door a inch more and reached for the object he had left on the table in the entry. He handed the blue book to Sam. ‘I think it’s about time our family returned this to its rightful owner. The trouble it’s caused has been entirely due to the misconduct of us Bagginses. A bunch of burglars, we are.’

‘Thank you,’ said Sam, his true gratitude apparent. ‘But, well… I wouldn’t be opposed, necessarily, if Mr. Frodo wanted to borrow it for a while longer.’ 

‘I would, thank you very much,’ Frodo answered, eagerly peeking around the door and taking the book from Sam. He clutched it to his chest and then turned and walked off, presumably gone to his room in order to sigh over the words of his sweetheart. 

‘See, now it’s him you’re encouraging,’ Bilbo told Sam. 

‘I can’t help it,’ Sam admitted with a smile. 

‘We’ll catch you tomorrow, then, Sam?’ 

‘I don’t work tomorrow, sir,’ Sam reminded. 

‘I know, I know,’ Bilbo assured. ‘I just thought I’d let you know that you may come by if you feel so inclined to visit.’ 

‘You’d let me come see Frodo again so soon?’ 

‘I think he’d start a campaign of slander against me if I didn’t,’ Bilbo said, with fondness. 

‘Tomorrow, then,’ Sam agreed. Bilbo could tell that he was trying desperately to downplay his excitement for the sake of civility. He was a good match (not to mention, a good counterbalance) for Frodo. Not that Bilbo had ever had any doubt. 

‘Excellent,’ Bilbo said. ‘I look forward to your company. Afternoon tea is at three.’