All right, this is a fic that I've been dying to do for awhile. Just a cute little fic about how Sam and Frodo met. I refuse to blather on and on, so... Enjoy!

Gardener

Wind whipped across the hill, causing some of the loose powder to scatter, getting into Sam's eyes and speckling his curly hair with small white flecks. He reached up with one hand to rub his now stinging eyes, keeping the other hand firmly clamped on the wooden bucket he was holding. However, his fingers were by this point numb from cold. To his dismay, Sam felt the bucket start to slide from his frigid fingers. He hastily brought his other hand back, attempting to stabilize the bucket, but…

Splash! Water spilled from the fallen bucket, melting the snow and flooding over Sam's already frozen toes. Sam uttered a curse that he had once heard his father use when he had cut his fingers on pruning shears, then clapped a hand over his mouth, feeling instant remorse. His mother had raised him better than that! Sam looked around guiltily, hoping that no one had heard his outburst. Luckily, it seemed that no one was around. Breathing a sigh of relief and resolving to go home and apologize to his mother, Sam picked up the bucket and trudged back up the hill to refill it.

He had only taken a handful of paces when his foot sank through the snow.

Thinking he had just hit a deep patch, Sam attempted to use his other foot to gain leverage, trying to pull his foot out. With a cry, Sam fell forward onto his knees as the snow beneath him collapsed. Oddly, half of the snow bank fell in with it. As he sat in the snow, gazing around bemusedly, Sam realized that he was looking at what had until recently been an intricate labyrinth of tunnel, most of which were now caved in.

"Aw!" came from behind him. Sam started and spun around. There stood a boy, looking only about a year or two younger than him. He possessed curly black hair and bright, shining green eyes. The boy's cheeks were flushed with cold, but the rest of his skin that was visible seemed pale as the snow behind him. His full lips were pulled down at the corners, brow wrinkled in a frown.

Sam, himself nine years of age, was a scruffy little thing. "He's a bit like a weed, my Sam is," Sam had once heard the Gaffer say to Old Noakes. "Not a whole lot to look at or nothing, but sturdy and strong." At the time, Sam had been a little offended. After all, his father did spend all day pulling up weeds so that they would not leach water from the vegetables. When he mentioned this to his father, the Gaffer laughed long and hard. "Now, you know that I didn't mean nothing by that, Sam," he told his son. "Being a gardener, I can tell you that weeds are a force to be reckoned with. Though they ain't pretty, their roots run deep and they are some of the most determined plants that I ever did see. Flowers are nothing to weeds when it comes to stubbornness, Sam. They're weak and delicate-like, see? That's why flowers need gardeners like me, Sam, to protect them from plants that have sturdier stuff. Weeds, they can make it on their own."

Sam was not so sure about making it on his own, but as he looked at the little boy before him, he concluded that the child was indeed a flower.

The boy with the black hair gazed around sadly at the remains of the tunnel system, then at Sam himself. "Why did you have to go and ruin it?" he asked in a voice laced with disappointment.

Sam felt a twinge of annoyance at this. He had not done it intentionally, and opened his mouth to tell the child this, but the boy was already bending over to examine the damage. "Hm," he said, shaking his head. "I believe that this is damaged beyond repair. Shame. Oh well, I suppose that I might as well start something new."

Sam hesitated, wondering whether or not the boy was speaking to him or just talking to himself. His unspoken question was answered when the boy turned to him and added "What's your name?"

"Uh… Sam. Sam Gamgee," Sam replied.

"Oh!" The boy's eyes lit up. "I believe that I met your father a few days ago. He works for my Uncle Bilbo. I'm Frodo Baggins."

Sam blinked. He had heard from his father that Bilbo Baggins was having one of his relatives visit a few days ago. "I'm surprised, to be honest," the Gaffer had said. "And here's me thinking that he hated the whole lot of them. Guess that there are some he can stand after all." He had somehow pictured Frodo Baggins differently, more like Bilbo. This child was not at all what he had expected.

"Hey," Frodo said. Sam glanced up at him and noticed that Frodo's gaze had slid to the empty bucket that now sat in Sam's lap. "What is that for?"

Sam gasped as the memory of what he was supposed to be doing rushed back to him all at once. He swiftly got to his feet, realizing for the first time how soaked his clothing was from the tumble that he had taken. "I'm supposed to be getting water," he said hoarsely. "I'm late now."

Frodo considered Sam for a moment longer before reaching out and taking the bucket from his hands.

"What are you doing?" Sam yelped, momentarily frightened that Frodo might be considering running off with the bucket. Ted Sandyman had once done that, and Sam had received a long lecture from the Gaffer on keeping track of his things.

Frodo looked over his shoulder at Sam. "Why, I'm helping," he said with the air of saying something that should have been as obvious. "After all, it is my fault that you fell in the first place, so I should help you get water. Which direction is the well again?"

"North," Sam replied, struggling through the knee-deep snow, trying to catch up to Frodo. "But it's all right if you don't help. I can do without."

Frodo shook his head, his curly black hair flopping from side to side. "No, I really do want to help. It's no trouble to me, and I would like to help you out." He gave Sam a big grin.

Sam gazed at him for a second or two. Someday, Sam thought, I bet this little boy with be one of the best-looking hobbit in the Shire and he'll break all the girls' hearts. No sooner than he had thought it then he knew that it would surely be so. If his smile was this adorable at this age, surely when he grew older, it would be positively heart-melting.

So caught up was Sam in these thoughts that he barely noticed when they reached the well. It was Frodo's voice that jarred him from his thoughts.

"Here we are." Frodo halted before the well. Without waiting for Sam to reach the top, Frodo attached the rope to the bucket and lowered it down. Sam came up beside Frodo just as the bucket entered the water, emitting a distant splash that echoed up the walls of the well. Frodo tugged on the rope. The rusted metal pulley squealed as Frodo hoisted the bucket up from the depths of the well.

Sam noticed very quickly that Frodo was having difficulties. Though he strained visibly, his tiny hands tightening on the cord and a few veins on his neck standing out, the bucket was clearly too heavy for him to manage. Still, he persisted, backing up a step or two and attempting to use his weight to his advantage, but the rope was starting to slide from his fingers. Sam knew that the boy could not hang on any longer. He quickly reached out and grabbed the rope. Frodo stopped tugging and opened his eyes, surprised at the sudden lack of weight. Sam had to try hard not to laugh.

"Here," he said. "I'll help, all right?" Slowly, Frodo nodded and together they tugged on the rope. Slowly, the bucket emerged.

"Now, I'll hold onto it here. You go and get the bucket, all right?" Sam directed.

Again, Frodo nodded. He released the rope and moved to the edge of the well. Frodo reached for the bucket and untied it. "Ah!" Frodo cried out as the full weight of the bucket was suddenly upon him. He lurched forward, leaning over the side of the well.

"Careful!" Sam rushed to Frodo's side, sure that Frodo would drop the bucket, but he had no reason to fear. Frodo had already managed to stand the bucket on the side of the well. Sam reached out and took the bucket from him, hefting it with one arm.

Frodo gaped. "You… You can actually carry that?"

"Er… Yes. I can," Sam answered, not really sure what to say to this.

"Wow." Frodo grinned at Sam, clearly impressed.

Sam blushed and looked away, though he felt distinctly pleased that he had earned Frodo's approval. This dimmed slightly as Sam remembered that he was late. "I've got to be getting home now," he told Frodo in a flat sort of voice.

"Oh." Frodo's grin died. "Yes, I suppose that you do… Can I come and see you tomorrow?"

Sam blinked. This, again, was not what he had expected. Sam glanced back at the eager little boy. "Er… I'm not sure that you know where I live," he said evasively.

"No, I don't, but I believe that my Uncle Bilbo does," Frodo replied in turn. "Or better yet, why don't you come visit us? You can come to tea, Sam. I'm sure that Uncle Bilbo wouldn't mind."

This was probably true. Bilbo quite liked to entertain. Sam hesitated. He was dying to say yes, but he was not sure that the Gaffer would be pleased with his accepting an invitation without asking first. "I don't know…" Sam said slowly.

"Oh, please, Sam? And then after, Uncle Bilbo can tell us some stories about the time while he was away."

Sam had always loved stories, and had heard Bilbo speak of his time outside the Shire on a few occasions. Each time, he'd always been bursting to know more. "A-Alright then. I'll come, if I can."

Frodo beamed at him. Sam's face reddened again and he wondered privately why Frodo would care so much.

As it turned out, the Gaffer was not at all unhappy with Sam accepting the invitation, though he was a little irritated that Sam was so late bringing back the water. When Sam told of Frodo's invitation, in fact, Ham Gamgee smiled and ruffled his youngest son's hair. "Good for you, Sam," he said. "Young Frodo's a good lad, and it'd do you good to start a friendship with him. Just remember, though, to be very polite in front of him."

Sam agreed. The next morning, he was ringing the bell at Bag End. Frodo opened the big round door and, seeing who it was, his face split into a wide grin. "Sam! Glad that you could make it. Excellent timing as well, we were just about to sit down for tea. Come inside. Oh, and be sure to wipe your feet on the mat," Frodo added as he remembered.

Sam bobbed his head in agreement. "Of course, Mr. Frodo," he said and did so.

Frodo raised an eyebrow, but did not comment on the sudden use of the epithet. Instead, he led Sam inside to where Bilbo and Frodo's mother and father sat at a table.

As Sam sat down beside his friend, he recalled the Gaffer's words about flowers. "Weak and delicate-like." No. Although Sam recognized that Frodo was a flower, he also knew that Frodo was stronger than he appeared, and somehow knew that Frodo would one day prove it. He also realized that he did not want to be a weed, if it meant that he stole from flowers like Frodo. A gardener, then, like his father. Someone to protect and cherish them as Sam came in later years to wish to protect and cherish Frodo. Not quite yet, of course. At the moment, Sam and Frodo were just children, new friends, and had no idea of the relationship that they would build over the years.

All right, you, dear reader, have a bit of a decision to make. Y'see, this is either going to stay a one-shot, or this will be the beginning to a long series of Sam x Frodo fanfictions. What do you think? Leave a review with your opinion. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this!

-Rai