I do not own lotr or any of the characters that I am portraying poorly. The content of this fanfiction is questionable and should not be viewed by minors. . .or anybody for that matter.

Enjoy.

Chapter One: Sam Runs into Frodo

Sam came huffing and puffing up the hill, but no matter how quickly he moved his short legs he couldn't keep up with his brothers. He couldn't match their long, grown-up strides.

"Hamson! Wait for me!" he squeaked out. "Halfred!"

They threw their heads over their shoulders even as they ran and Sam saw, on the corners of their faces, smug, little grins.

"What'er ye doing back there, Sam?" Hamson bellowed, much to Halfred's grinning amusement. "Picking daisies?"

"No," Sam answered indignantly. "Ye know very well I'm not picking daisies. Yer both just trying to get rid of me!" he paused for a puff of breath. "Ye promised! Ye said if I took the fall for ye, ye would let me come with ye to see the lasses!"

"Sam, Sam, Sam," chided Hamson, placing his hands on his hips in the fashion of a mother scolding her child for running with the butter knife, doing this even as he ran, gaining more and more distance from Sam by the second. "Bringing our nine year old brother to see lasses? That simply would not be very responsible of us, now would it?"

"But ye promised!" Sam squeaked again. Hamson and Halfred were coming now to the edge of the field and only a couple more of their grown-up strides would be needed to reach the thicket, which led into a little wood that Sam was not allowed to venture into alone. "Wait!" he shouted one last time, but-

"Sorry, Sam! Maybe when yer older!" And then they were gone. Sam skidded to a halt. He could hear the rustling they made, their snickering laughs as they dashed away, running as if they thought Sam still might chase them and make the whole situation all the more laughable. In Sam's head the image of him tangled in a snag-bush came to mind; flapping and flailing, his hands beating at the branches no better than baby fists.

"They may go a-breakin' their promises," he said to himself. "but I wouldn't give them that to remember, no sir! Never'd I live it down!"

Sam turned around to head back home, feeling momentarily proud of himself for not following them in. "The Gaffer may think me a Ninnyhammer, but I'm smarter than those two. What if they got caught in a snag-bush. Funniest thing in the world that would be and no mistake! Then I could call them Ninnyhammers and they would have to take me with them to see the girls next time, because The Gaffer would think me older, in mind that is, than them. And they would have to follow me around, because The Gaffer would say so."

Sam reached the end of the field as he entertained himself with these thoughts and came into sight of his home, a low Smial, small and quaint, but the homiest home he ever did live in (the only one too). And it looked even smaller and even quainter compared to Bag End, which sat high and. . .Sam searched for a description.

"Scholar-like," he finally said, nodding to himself. "Jus' like old Bilbo inside."

And it was a good description. There was something in the way the hill flowed around it. It wasn't stout and imposing like so many of the gentry's homes, but more graceful and more practically built, with that cheery, green door-taller than The Gaffer!- and round, that seemed to say 'good times are just inside'.

Not that Bag End was a place for Sam's enjoyment. No, he knew very well that it was a place to work at and he also knew that in due time, when he was as big as his ninnyhammer brothers, he would go to work there too, just like The Gaffer. And even though he was reminded time and time again that it wasn't a place for him to go playing around in, he couldn't help but enjoy it there. Didn't matter if The Gaffer was showing him the ropes in the garden or if Bilbo had invited them inside for a quick cup of tea. It felt like a second home.

He reached the dirt road by his own home and bent over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath. He eyed the round door (crude, it was, and humble; especially compared to Bag End).

"No way I'm going in there right now," he sighed to himself, remembering how his brothers had broken The Gaffer's favorite shovel and told Marigold that Sam had done it. He regretted not setting her straight on that, but his brothers had promised that if he accepted the blame they would take him to visit the lasses. They were always sneaking out to see them right under The Gaffer's nose! Well, Sam's curiosity had betrayed him and he took the fall. And what did he get in return? More of his brother's tricks, that is what!

Sam stood there trying to decide what to do next, but ran out of time all too quickly. He didn't notice the sun rolling low in the rosy sky and the hum of night-crickets, calling the nightly orchestra together. It was early evening, but the time didn't even cross his mind until he heard his Gaffer's whistling, approaching from Bag End.

Sam jumped at the sound and went to hide behind the smial, where he crouched, heart pounding, in a little, prickly bush and listened. He heard his Gaffer open the squeaking door and enter, feet clomping over the threshold. Sam waited in dread for a minute before the door opened again.

"Sam! Ye get yerself in here right now, wherever ye are!" Came his voice, hot with anger.

'Oh, this is defiantly not worth it! Oh no, no, no!' he thought frantically to himself. 'Hadn't even thought about the Gaffer coming home first! Marigold would believe me, but the Gaffer would jus' say I was a fibber! He'll box my ears for sure!'

Sam heard him shutting the door behind him, followed by a pair of quieter footsteps behind his own heavy ones (Marigold, could it be?).

"Ye think he ran?" She asked, confirming Sam's suspicion.

"No," The Gaffer answered as he rounded the corner and came into sight. "Samwise isn't much the running type. He'll be hiding 'round here somewhere, I warrant."

Sam froze. He could see The Gaffer and Marigold through the bush's branches, but they didn't seem to see him. They didn't seem to be able to see much at all, the back of the Smial being set in the darkening shadow of the larger Bag End hill. If Sam could just sneak back a ways without making noise…

He untangled himself from the bush's hooks and to his relief the leaves didn't crackle or rake loudly against his crude-knit clothes. He eased himself out silently, away from The Gaffer and Marigold, backwards without a sound. Then he was free, spun around and ran as quickly and as quietly as he ever had, dashed headlong up the hill, up all the way to the back of Bag End and dove head first into the hedge (a wall of green that enclosed the bright, summery gardens).

He turned back and peeped his face (smeared now with dirt) through the hedge. Marigold was heading back inside now, hands on her hips. The Gaffer was still rooted in the same spot, though, craning his neck around and shaking his head.

Sam had to bite his tiny fist to keep himself from shrieking with mirth. But for all his efforts he couldn't help giggling a bit.

"Alright now. I'll just cut through the garden real quick before I get caught and…and…oh dear. What now?"

"Samwise Gamgee!" came The Gaffer's voice, suddenly closer. "I saw ye run up this way! Ye better not be in the Baggin's Gardens!"

"Oh dear!" Sam tumbled back, crushing a couple of delicate lilies. He sprang to his feet and shot through the garden as fast as his little legs could carry him. But he didn't look where he was going.

A great tree root seemed to materialize out of nowhere. He tripped, was airborne for a split second, and then with an "oof!" he flopped across someone's lap.

"Oh!" cried a voice.

And this is how Sam found himself with his belly pressed against the pages of a flattened book. He looked up and was struck dumb by the face staring back down at him.

"Yer an Elf!" he blurted. The elf jumped. He looked to be a little younger than Halfred, but 'then again,' Sam reasoned with himself. 'Elves can get older even than The Gaffer and still look young!' His face was the color of the cat's favorite cream, with rosy cheeks, that glowed even rosier in the evening light. His curls were dark, nearly raven-black, and had a reddish glow. But all of those things weren't nearly as strange as his eyes. They were wide like a child's and bluer than the bluest blue.

The elf seemed just as shocked as Sam felt. "No," he finally answered. "What are you doing?"

Sam lifted himself and crouched at the elf's side with a set look upon his face. He crossed his arms and ignored the question. "What do ye think yer doing, Mr. Elf, sneaking in Mr. Bilbo's garden? I don't think he would rightly appreciate it."

To his surprise, the elf burst out laughing. Sam shrunk back a bit, his face going hot. "Now I'm being serious," he muttered through his own embarrassment. "My Gaffer says folk will come and try to find Mr. Bilbo's treasure to take for their own. I say, yer not allowed to go taking from Mr. Bilbo, if that is what ye were going about."

This just made him laugh all the harder, but he finally did calm down, wiped loose tears from his eyes.

"It's good to know that my uncle's guards are so dedicated," he said and then added, "My name is Frodo Baggins. I'm going to be living here for a while."

"Oh," said Sam shyly, his face burning even hotter. "Baggins. I r-reckon yer a hobbit then."

"I wish I were an elf," he offered.

"My name is Samwise Gamgee, but ye should jus' call me a ninnyhammer. S'what my Gaffer says and it seems he's right. Beggin' yer pardon, but please don't go thinkin' that all Gamgees are ninnyhammers jus' 'cause you met the ninnyhammerest of them all."

"I don't think you're a ninnyhammer, Samwise. I think you're funny."

"Ye think I'm funny?"

Frodo nodded with a grin and Sam put his hands to his face, bashfully hiding behind his fingers. "Ye-ye can call me 'Sam' if you want to. The Gaffer only calls me 'Samwise' if I'm in trouble."

"Alright, Sam."

Sam beamed, then hesitantly removed his hands and dropping them at his sides. "So, if'n ye don't mind me askin', why did you come to live here, then?"

"Oh," said Frodo softly. There was a sudden sadness in his eyes and for a moment, to Sam's shock, he looked like he was about to cry, but the moment passed and he finally answered. "I just missed Bilbo terribly and wanted to stay with him for a while."

"Yer Mum and da' were okay with letting you come?" Sam gasped out, clearly impressed. "Mine would never let me leave. The Gaffer would say I was lazy and wanting to get out of garden work, but that's not true, because I like garden work."

There was that look again in Frodo's eyes, but again it passed. "You're Gaffer? Would that be Hamfast?"

"Yes sir! He's yer gardener and I'll be next after him! He's a-trainin' me!"

"Goodness. And you're so little."

"No," said Sam, shaking his head. "I'm nine!"

"You're nine!"

Sam nodded proudly.

"My, you're not little at all, are you?"

"Nuh-uh."

"would you like to guess how old I am?" Frodo asked, his eyes twinkling.

"Old as Halfred, I reckon."

"I'm twenty-one, which makes me a tween now."

"Oh," squeaked Sam in appreciation. "Beggin' yer pardon, but yer kind of old." And then he drew a bit closer and went on in a low whisper. "Old enough to kiss lasses even. That's what my brothers say."

Frodo laughed at that. "Would you be impressed if I told you that I have actually kissed a lass before?"

Sam's eyes went round. "Really? No joke?"

"No joke," Frodo pronounced proudly.

"What was it like?"

"Like nothing else." Then he gave another little laugh. "Now if you don't mind me asking, what were you doing running through the garden?"

"No, sir, I don't mind at all. I was running from me Gaffer, because he thought-,"

"Frodo!" Came Bilbo's voice. "Frodo, where are you?"

Frodo jumped up and peered over a lilac bush. "I'm here, uncle!"

"Hamfast is here! He is wondering if you have seen his son, Samwise, around!"

Sam sucked in breath. He crawled forward and tugged on Frodo's pant leg. "Please!" he hissed lowly. "He can't find me now. He thinks I've been naughty when I haven't and he'll box my ears for sure."

Frodo froze and there was a long pause, in which the only sound that Sam could hear was his own pulse. Then finally he spoke. "Sorry, Uncle! I haven't seen anyone back here!"

An awed smile broke upon Sam's face as he looked up at Frodo.

"Alright!" Bilbo called back. "Come in soon! It's getting late!" Then in a quieter voice, "I'm sorry, Hamfast. Frodo hasn't-," and then the door shut, cutting off the rest.

Frodo sat down again and eyed Sam. "So you were running from your father then?"

Sam nodded. "But it wasn't my fault. Hamfast and Halfred were playin' around with The Gaffer's favorite shovel and broke it! Then they went and blamed it on me and then ran away to see the lasses."

"What?"

Sam elaborated, telling the whole story in full detail. Frodo was a patient listener and he didn't interrupt, but there were flickers of amusement in his eyes now and again. When Sam finished he leaned back against the tree and sighed.

"Well, Sam. What now?"

"Oh, I can't never go back," Sam wailed. "No, never! He'll box my ears for sure and no mistake!"

"You're going to run away, then?"

"Well," Sam pondered. "I have run away."

"So you're going to stay here then?" Frodo asked, tipping his head up to look Sam right in the eye. "You're going to live…in this tree, right here?"

"Well, that is an interesting idea, but you would have to set out my meals."

Frodo laughed out loud, but Sam was quite serious. "Sam, Sam. I was only making a point."

"A point, sir?"

"The point is, you can't live in a tree, Sam. You need to run around in the grass like other hobbit children and eat your meals at a table indoors. The point is, you need to go home tonight and face your Gaffer. We all have our own 'Gaffers' we need to face."

"I reckon yer right," Sam sighed. "But I don't feel ready to face my Gaffer at all." He sniffled his nose and wiped his arm across his eyes where tears had started to well up.

Frodo looked on with pity, but was unsure of what to do. Finally, he spoke up. "Would you like me to read to you? Just for a bit?"

Sam nodded glumly. Frodo motioned for him to sit next to him against the tree and Sam complied. He picked up the book he had been reading and flipped back to the first page.

"This story is my favorite," he said. "It's called Amarth and Dinelloth. It's about two elvish princes."

That perked Sam right up. "E-elves?" he quested. "Is it an adventure sort of story then?"

Frodo grinned. "Well, you will just have to find out, won't you?" And then he began.

Sam leaned back and rested against Frodo's shoulder so that he could get a better look at the book. There were no pictures; it was all words, but from the first page on, Sam was completely immersed in the story and listened with unwavering ears.

It was indeed an adventure story, and an exciting one at that. It started with two elvish princes who were close friends, Amarth and Dinelloth. They lived normal lives (Well, normal for elves anyways) until one day when they went off exploring and found an old cave. They were young, as elves go, and rather foolish. They felt that that cave was not quite right, yet they went in anyways and awakened an ancient monster, a giant snake by the name of Loki, that escaped and wreaked havoc on their woodland home. When the king found out what they had done, the two were banished from the forest, never to return.

When Frodo finished reading that part he closed the book.

"It can't be over," said Sam sleepily, yet there was still a note of distress in his voice.

"That was only the first book," Frodo answered. "But it's getting too dark now. I could barely finish in this light. The sun has been down for quite a while now and it's getting colder." He sighed softly and then added. "You know what that means, Sam. Time to go back home-face the music, you know. You must be tired by now. Sam?" Frodo glanced down and, sure enough, Sam was out already, sleeping his little worries away upon Frodo's shoulder.

He chuckled to himself and shook him gently. "Sam. Sam, it's time to go home now."

"Alright," Sam mumbled, half asleep.

Frodo helped Sam stand, but on his own feet Sam stumbled and swerved like a drunk, so Frodo ended up carrying him on his hip. It was nearly dark as Frodo reached Sam's smial and knocked on the brown door.

A girl, just about Frodo's age, answered. Her eyes went wide when she saw him.

"Oh, Hello Mr. Baggins," she blurted out, curtsying clumsily. "Sam?"

"Hello," he answered politely. "It seems Samwise here wandered into the garden and fell asleep. I found him in the daisies."

"Oh me! We was lookin' for him! I'm so sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

"It's quite alright," he said, unsure of how else to respond. "We had a nice little chat, didn't we Sam?"

"Yes sir," Sam mumbled, his head nodding about. Frodo handed him off to his sister.

"Thank you, sir."

Frodo nodded. "Good night."

"Good night."

And then he stepped back and she shut the door quietly.

-0-

Frodo began whistling as he walked home, but stopped suddenly, surprised at himself. He could believe that he had actually just whistled. And then another shock.

"I just spent two hours…talking," he muttered to himself in amazement.

Ever since that day, that horrible, horrible day when he found out that his parents had drowned, he found it difficult to be around…anyone. He had lived at Brandy Hall with his cousins for a short time, but everyone, whether they said it or not, seemed to notice a change in him. He wouldn't eat as much as his cousins, he couldn't sleep the whole night through, and most of all, he found it difficult to be around the folks that he had once been so close with. Secretly, he had always suspected that there was something in him that had died with his parents, though he never spoke of it to anyone (It would only cause worry.) His ability to connect had been lost, or so it seemed.

Maybe it was because Sam was so young, that no matter how sad Frodo felt inside, he looked up at him like he was glowing like the sun. Maybe it was because Sam was too immature to tell that something wasn't right. He didn't try to pat Frodo on the back or try to understand when it was a thing beyond his understanding. Maybe it was simply because Sam was so young, that it made Frodo feel like he was young too, like he had been given a small fragment of his childhood back; a childhood that had ended all too abruptly.

Sam was a good lad.

Frodo slipped in the great, green door and hauled himself off to bed. In the dark, he cried just a little for memory of his parents. His wounds were still fresh. But that night he slept sounder than he had in weeks.

-0-

Sam woke the next morning to find himself in his own bed. He padded out to the kitchen on soft feet, rubbing his eyes, to find The Gaffer taking a quick smoke on his pipe before going off to Bag End.

"Da'?"

The Gaffer turned. "Samwise, yer up early. Sit down so we can talk." His voice was stern.

The Gaffer scolded Sam, telling him he had been a ninnyhammer for breaking the shovel, and especially for trespassing in Mr. Bilbo's garden. Sam listened with a bowed head to keep his watery eyes hidden. Shame flooded him and he wanted very, very badly to tell the Gaffer outright that it was Hamson and Halfred who had broken the shovel, but he kept his mouth shut.

What had Frodo said last night? "We all have our own 'Gaffers' to face." It still rung clear in Sam's head.

'Yes,' Sam thought to himself even as The Gaffer railed over his head. 'I suppose I needed to face him, but, Lady, my Gaffer is the Gafferest of all the 'Gaffers'. And if I make it out without getting my ears boxed, why, I'll eat my hat!'

Then, The Gaffer seemed to finish and leaned back in his chair. Sam risked a glance up to find that he had taken up his pipe and poked it through his lips. His expression: Benevolent.

"I'll be taking ye to Bag End with me today. Reckon it'll keep ye out of trouble."

Sam nodded frantically, a grin of relief breaking upon his round face.

"But I don't want ye pestering the Master Frodo. Have I made meself clear? I heard from May that he had to carry ye home last night. Now I'm sure he's a pleasant lad, but it's not his job to put up with ye if he doesn't want to? Alright Sam? Just ye remember yer place."

"Yes sir," said Sam. He tried not to show it, but he was a bit abashed. Had he been pestering Mr. Frodo?

A few minutes later, as they left the smial, a funny thought occurred to Sam. 'The Gaffer didn't box my ears! Not even a bit!' Sam fumbled with the hat on his head, feeling the coarse cloth, thinking how difficult it would be to swallow. He shook his head. 'Silly. It's jus' an expression.'

-0-

Sam tried to keep his head down and focus on what his Gaffer was doing, but he couldn't help wondering if Mr. Frodo had been annoyed with him. He didn't have to wonder long, though. Halfway through the morning, Frodo came around a wall of Ivy with a book under his arm.

"Hullo Hamfast," He greeted.

"Hullo, Master Frodo." The Gaffer nodded.

"Hullo Sam," Frodo said on the same breath. "You look well rested."

"Yes sir," answered Sam, thrilled to say the least. Frodo didn't seem annoyed at all. On the contrary. He looked as cheery as the gardens he was walking in. "I sleep real well if I'm read a story."

"You liked that story then?"

"Oh yes! I think it's the excitingest story I ever heard, but," Sam muttered shyly, his eyes on the ground. "I wish I knew how the story ended."

"Samwise," warned the Gaffer under his breath so that Frodo couldn't hear.

Sam cringed at his Gaffer's reprimand, suddenly regretting the request, but Frodo didn't bat an eye at it. "There are three more books that complete the story, but I have to warn you. We only have two."

"Two sir?" Sam glanced up.

"Yes. Bilbo said that four books, in all, complete the story, but that the last one was lost a long time ago. Shame. But it's still one of my favorite stories none-the-less."

"It would still be worth the read," Sam agreed, feeling very scholarly. Here he was, chatting about books. And he couldn't even read!

"Well, I didn't come out here to distract you from your gardening, so maybe another time?"

Sam opened his mouth with the intention of saying something along the lines of, 'Oh, no sir. Yer not being distracting at all.' But the Gaffer was sitting near and he would think that Sam was just trying to prolong the conversation, being a pester to Frodo. So instead he just said, "Happy readin'."

Frodo gave an amused grin. "Happy Gardening." And then he was off to the tree that Sam had first met him at.

"See Da'. He doesn't think I'm a pester," Sam said, turning to face him.

"Yes. Master Frodo is a pleasant lad. Now ye focus well on those Daffodils and be careful not to crush the roots. Their delicate when they're young."

-0-

That week was busy for Sam, learning all about gardening and such, and though he did love gardening with his Gaffer, he was hopeful that he might get a reprieve so that Frodo could read to him again. Every day, whether Frodo was studying with Bilbo inside or reading out in the gardens alone, he came by and chatted with Sam for a couple minutes at the least. Then, he would say something like, "Well, I won't bother you anymore," and go off to do his own thing.

Once, Sam heard his Gaffer mutter under his breath, "Poor lad." But when Sam asked him what he meant by that, he just told him to mind his work.

Finally, towards the end of the week, Frodo came out to see that the two gardeners were wrapping up early. With Sam's help, the Gaffer was ahead for once and there was nothing else to be done.

"Sam, would you like me to read you the next book?" Frodo asked.

Sam grinned eagerly with a quick glance towards his Gaffer for approval.

"Go ahead, Sam. We're done for today."

Frodo and Sam settled down under the familiar tree (a tree that would later grow far more familiar in years to come, as they would go there to read when the weather was fair). He started the second book and Sam thought that it was even better than the first. It was full of action and adventure and daring escapes, the sort of things that Sam knew he would never have the courage to do himself. But that was the magic of stories, wasn't it?

Then the third book followed it, even more exciting if that was even possible, but it ended in the worst spot. Amarth and Dinelloth had just been accepted back into their woodland realm due to several of their heroic feats during their exile, but then Dinelloth had been captured by the snake's evil minions. And that was where the book had ended!

"Well, that is a right shame," sighed Sam as Frodo closed the book.

"Yes, but wasn't it a good read?"

"Oh, best story I ever did hear, it was." They got up and walked back. "Do you suppose we can make up our own ending, Mr. Frodo?"

"Oh, that's a wonderful idea, Sam! So tell me, how does it end?"

"Oh, Amarth rescues Dinelloth, of course, and then they kill the evil snake together. And then," he added. "they get back home, safe and sound."

"No treasure? No titles?"

"Hmm," pondered Sam. "Some of that maybe, but I think they would just be happy living their old lives again, don't ye think? Maybe next time they know better not to go a-wakein' monsters."

Frodo laughed at this and as usual, Sam blushed and wondered if he had said something wrong. "I guess you're kind of right Sam. It was their fault from the beginning."

After this, Frodo and Sam read many, many books together when they found the time, but this story was always Sam's favorite. The years passed-eleven in fact!-and the story was all but swept from Sam's mind.

Well, as usual with everything I write, it turned out longer than I planned. This chapter was meant to be a short little prologue, but it just got out of hand. Also, I have already written a few more chapters after this one to get more in to the story and to make sure I knew where I was going with this. Turns out, I do have ideas. Anyways, read and review. Uh…have a nice day.