Bad Habits
The sound of the nib scratching on the thick parchment filled the study, punctuated by the occasional gasp of irritation when it stuck and the ink smudged. The melody of birdsong and the whisper of the wind through the boughs of the trees crept in through the open window, with the reliable beat of the garden shears being utilised.
When the ink pen smudged once again, Frodo Baggins sat back in frustration, dropping the pen onto the desk in annoyance. He listened to the sounds coming in from the window, his eyes closing in bliss as he enjoyed the feel of the wind caressing his face on this hot summer's day; he could feel himself being lulled into sleepiness by the serene and calming backdrop of sounds.
Suddenly he sat up straight. In this melody of nature there was something distinctly un-tuneful, which was instead jarring and unsettling. It was an irritating squeak – surely Sam's shears weren't that much in need of oiling.
Frodo tried to ignore the squeaking, but it was persistent and the more he tried to block it out the louder it became, until it had progressed from a squeak to an outright howl. He heard Sam stop shearing; obviously he too wanted to locate the source of the noise.
Getting up with a sigh, Frodo walked into the bright garden and found his gardener staring up into the leaves of the apple tree. Frodo walked over to the tree of interest, wondering what had fascinated Sam so much.
'There's something up there,' Sam said as Frodo approached. Indeed, this was where the noise was coming from. Now he was close, it didn't sound mechanical at all, but very much animal – like a desperate animal at that.
They peered up into the thick branches but neither of them could see anything. The thick leaves obscured their view and prevented them from discerning the source of the noise.
'There's only one thing for it, Sam. I'll have to climb up,' Frodo said, and began rolling up his shirt sleeves.
Instantly a look of horror crossed Sam's face.
'Oh no, Mr Frodo, sir! You mustn't go up! Please sir, let me fetch a ladder or something-'
'Really, Sam, there's nothing to worry about. I learned to climb when I was just a lad; I know what I'm doing. There's no need for you to go to the trouble of fetching a ladder!'
Frodo was testing the lower branches, checking which ones would hold his weight.
'Oh please, sir, 'tis no trouble at all. What if you were to fall, Mr Frodo? What would people say then?'
'Sam, I'm not going to fall!' Frodo was up now, into the body of leafy boughs. He was getting steadily higher, and Sam couldn't see him any more. He continued to fret all the while.
'Can you see anything, Mr Frodo? Have you found it yet?' he called up.
Frodo's impish laugh floated down to him. 'Sam, you'll never guess!'
'What is it?'
'It's a cat! She's only gone and got herself stuck!'
'A cat! All this trouble for a cat? Oh, Mr Frodo, do be careful, sir! Don't fall!'
He got no reply, as Frodo navigated his way down from the high branches. The yowl of the cat had died down, as she allowed Frodo to bring her down. Finally Sam could see Mr Frodo's feet, then his trousers, and then finally Frodo's torso and head as he jumped the way from the lowest branch to the ground, a black and white cat cradled against his chest.
As soon they were safely on the ground, she started scrambling out of Frodo's grasp, clawing her way out of his arms. They watched her scamper away across the grass, diving into the hedge out of sight.
Frodo brushed himself down. His previously white shirt was now dotted with bits of tree bark and black cat hairs.
'See, Sam?' Frodo laughed. 'Nothing to worry about. I didn't fall, did I?'
'No, sir, but you could have, and what a to-do we'd have been in then!'
'Honestly Sam, you worry too much!' Frodo smiled at his friend. 'I know you'd have caught me if I fell,' he chuckled.
'Well, yes, I would too… but it's not the point…' Sam trailed off. If Sam was honest, he didn't feel too comfortable even on ladders, and his feet were best kept firmly planted on the ground, thank you very much. Nothing good ever came out of climbing trees, his gaffer always said; it was unnatural for decent hobbit-folk to be gallivanting up in the tree-tops like elves.
With a sigh, he followed Frodo into the smial for afternoon tea, shaking his head at Frodo's irrepressible Baggins spirit.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed this! Thank you for reading and please review - I'd love to know what you think :)