Oh yes, I'm back, again. I missed doing this :) So I have SF and MP in this first one. A very old SF.
I own nothing.
Angry
Oh, don't bother looking at the floor when I pass you. I already know it was me you were whispering about. Don't you have anything better to do, anyone else to talk about? When you're gathered around the kitchen table, giggling and gossiping, while the older cooks 'tut' and shake their heads and sigh out 'I told you so's. Or when you're walking the halls in pairs and fall silent when we both pass the corner, continuing your chat when we've gone by.
Maybe it would be better if you did let your eyes fall to the floor. At least then I wouldn't feel you staring at me, watching me and 'Oh, isn't it Master Merry's room that way?'
But it's only a few more steps and then I can forget them all, lock the door and pretend that Merry and I are the only two people in the world.
Advice
Every bit of advice his father ever gave him, he remembered. He remembered it, stored it away in his memory he needed it, and quoted it, word for word.
But sometimes Sam wonders exactly much of his advice was helpful.
"Remember your place."
"Mind your betters."
"Don't get ideas too big for you."
It's things like that that stop the phrases and sentances echoing in his head everytime he looks at Mr Frodo, his Frodo, and open his mouth to reveal that secret.
Maybe he shouldn't have taken his father's advice, and taken his mother's instead.
"Follow your heart, Sam."