Being Stupid
By Talking Hawk
Author's Note: We know from the appendix of LOTR that Sam was the second-to- the-youngest of six children, but I have never seen any sort of fanfic talking about him and his brothers' relationship. I recall one on his relationship with his sister Marigold, but that's it (forgive me if I am mistaken; there's over seven thousand LOTR fics on this website). Perhaps the reason for this is that it would make sense that he wasn't very close to any of them due to his slight clinginess to Frodo. I sort of agree with this theory, but I figured that there had to at least been some sweet interaction between Sam and his brother(s)…
Hamson was my oldest brother – we were born fifteen years apart. I sometimes thought he didn't like me much, because I was the little runt of the family. Or maybe it was because he thought I was lesser than he was, being so much younger. Or MAYBE it was because I was supposedly our Gaffer's favorite, liking gardening and things like he did. Anyhow, I wasn't sure why Hamson glared at me for no good reason. Perhaps it was just a tweenager thing.
EVERY night it was the same story – we, the Gamgees, would be sitting down at the dinner table for supper. I would be eating peacefully, filling my tummy with the delicious food my mother had prepared until I was content. But each time – EVERY night, he wouldn't allow me to clean my plate without interruption. He would always say…
"Sam, take out the garbage!" I sigh. There we go again. Begrudgingly, I would leave my plate unattended, hop off my little chair, and take out the garbage. Sometimes, my little sister Marigold would get greedy and steel a roll or two from my plate. Why did Hamson always have to pick on ME? Why couldn't he ever have Halfred ever do it? But, after all, Halfred was so much BETTER than ME because he was only FOUR YEARS younger than Hamson. I was fifteen years younger – practically a lifetime in Hamson's eyes.
"Sam, take out the garbage." "Sam, take out the garbage." "Sam, aren't you going to take out the garbage?" "Make sure you take a coat out when you take out the garbage, Sam. It's beginning to rain." My life stunk.
But then, one night, something different happened. Instead of being interrupted, I was left to my supper. Fearing that the order would come at any given moment, I jammed the food down my throat, nearly forgetting to chew it before swallowing. But then it never came. Oh, my stomach…
As the members of my family left their seats to resume their activities, I began to sway in my seat. My stomach was churning, not happy at the prospect of stuffing myself. Before I knew it, the chairs about me were empty – all except for Hamson's. He sat across from me, and to my surprise, he was staring at me, a slight smile upon his lips.
He rose silently from his seat, and walked up to me. I lowered my eyes, and whispered, "Do I have to go take out the garbage now?" Again, to my surprise, he chuckled. He placed his hand on my head, and tenderly ruffled my sandy curls.
"No," he said quietly with a sort of – love? – in his voice that I had heard him use when talking to Marigold back when she was an infant. "I will do it. Don't worry about it." I looked up at him, and blinked in bewilderment. He smirked, and strode towards the back of the kitchen, grabbed the trash bag, and placed his hand on the doorknob of the back door.
Hesitantly, I called out, "Hamson?" He stopped, and turned back to me, his eyes focused on me. Feebly, I spoke, "My tummy hurts…" I placed my hands on my stomach as further proof. "Could you make it feel better?" He grinned.
Hamson chuckled, "Why, of course. I'll make you some soup." Amused, he opened the door, and as he began to walk through it, I called out once more, "Are you sure you wouldn't mind?" More slowly this time, he turned back to me, and smiled gently.
"No. After all, isn't that what brothers are for?" I wouldn't know. I voiced my naivety in the area. "Well, I dunno." His eyes widened, taken aback by this response. I cringed, afraid I had said something I shouldn't had.
"Well," he said uneasily, "I'll have you know that brothers look out for each other, and are, well, brothers!" I lifted an eyebrow. He wasn't getting his point across very well. Hamson frowned, realizing this. My brother set the trash bag down on the floor, and leaving the door open, he approached me once more. He crouched down until he was squatting, his hand on the tabletop for support. He looked up at me with a sort of sadness I have never seen in his eyes.
"I suppose," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion, "that I hadn't been a very good brother if you don't know this." I slumped in my chair. I felt stupid. Reading my mind, he said, "This is of no fault of your own. I suppose… I suppose that I'm a tad bit, well, unfriendly at times. Again, this is not your fault…" He turned his gaze from me, and looked at the ground, searching for words. I felt guilty; I didn't like seeing my brother this way. Somehow, it WAS my fault.
"Don't be sorry!" I cried out. "Really, it's okay…" "No," Hamson stated, shaking his head. "It is not okay. It's not okay that you can't see from the way I act what brothers are supposed to be like…"
"It's not your fault I'm stupid!" I argued, tears filling my eyes. My stomach didn't hurt as much as my heart did right about now. I began crying like a little child – which I suppose I was, being four. Hamson frowned, picked me up, and sat in my chair, sitting me on his lap.
I quickly found myself looking into his eyes, and I could see tears formulating in his own eyes. "Oh, Sam," he whispered, stroking my hair sadly, "you are most certainly NOT stupid. It is me." He pressed my head to his chest, and he sat his chin on my head as he rocked me gently like my mum used to. It still had a soothing effect.
"How could you be stupid?" I asked dumbly. "You're a big boy…" He chuckled, and replied, "Just because you're big, doesn't mean you can't be stupid." My brother laughed weakly again, and said, "I'm still pretty good at it."
A long pause ensued. Hamson continued to rock me, and many thoughts crossed my mind. After a very long time, I removed my head from his chin, and propped myself up, looking into his hazel eyes. "Maybe…" I suggested, "brothers are supposed to be stupid with one another."
He threw his head back, and began cracking up with laughter. His eyes laughing as well, he finally regained control of himself, and smiled at me. "Oh, Sam," he whispered, running his hand through my hair again, "you're not stupid, but that describes what brothers should be like better than I ever can." To my surprise, he leaned forward, and kissed my forehead – very un-Hamson-like.
"I'm sorry if you didn't already know this…but I love you, Sam."
After a pause, I responded, "I love you too…even if you are stupid."
He laughed again, and after a moment, I laughed with him.
By Talking Hawk
Author's Note: We know from the appendix of LOTR that Sam was the second-to- the-youngest of six children, but I have never seen any sort of fanfic talking about him and his brothers' relationship. I recall one on his relationship with his sister Marigold, but that's it (forgive me if I am mistaken; there's over seven thousand LOTR fics on this website). Perhaps the reason for this is that it would make sense that he wasn't very close to any of them due to his slight clinginess to Frodo. I sort of agree with this theory, but I figured that there had to at least been some sweet interaction between Sam and his brother(s)…
Hamson was my oldest brother – we were born fifteen years apart. I sometimes thought he didn't like me much, because I was the little runt of the family. Or maybe it was because he thought I was lesser than he was, being so much younger. Or MAYBE it was because I was supposedly our Gaffer's favorite, liking gardening and things like he did. Anyhow, I wasn't sure why Hamson glared at me for no good reason. Perhaps it was just a tweenager thing.
EVERY night it was the same story – we, the Gamgees, would be sitting down at the dinner table for supper. I would be eating peacefully, filling my tummy with the delicious food my mother had prepared until I was content. But each time – EVERY night, he wouldn't allow me to clean my plate without interruption. He would always say…
"Sam, take out the garbage!" I sigh. There we go again. Begrudgingly, I would leave my plate unattended, hop off my little chair, and take out the garbage. Sometimes, my little sister Marigold would get greedy and steel a roll or two from my plate. Why did Hamson always have to pick on ME? Why couldn't he ever have Halfred ever do it? But, after all, Halfred was so much BETTER than ME because he was only FOUR YEARS younger than Hamson. I was fifteen years younger – practically a lifetime in Hamson's eyes.
"Sam, take out the garbage." "Sam, take out the garbage." "Sam, aren't you going to take out the garbage?" "Make sure you take a coat out when you take out the garbage, Sam. It's beginning to rain." My life stunk.
But then, one night, something different happened. Instead of being interrupted, I was left to my supper. Fearing that the order would come at any given moment, I jammed the food down my throat, nearly forgetting to chew it before swallowing. But then it never came. Oh, my stomach…
As the members of my family left their seats to resume their activities, I began to sway in my seat. My stomach was churning, not happy at the prospect of stuffing myself. Before I knew it, the chairs about me were empty – all except for Hamson's. He sat across from me, and to my surprise, he was staring at me, a slight smile upon his lips.
He rose silently from his seat, and walked up to me. I lowered my eyes, and whispered, "Do I have to go take out the garbage now?" Again, to my surprise, he chuckled. He placed his hand on my head, and tenderly ruffled my sandy curls.
"No," he said quietly with a sort of – love? – in his voice that I had heard him use when talking to Marigold back when she was an infant. "I will do it. Don't worry about it." I looked up at him, and blinked in bewilderment. He smirked, and strode towards the back of the kitchen, grabbed the trash bag, and placed his hand on the doorknob of the back door.
Hesitantly, I called out, "Hamson?" He stopped, and turned back to me, his eyes focused on me. Feebly, I spoke, "My tummy hurts…" I placed my hands on my stomach as further proof. "Could you make it feel better?" He grinned.
Hamson chuckled, "Why, of course. I'll make you some soup." Amused, he opened the door, and as he began to walk through it, I called out once more, "Are you sure you wouldn't mind?" More slowly this time, he turned back to me, and smiled gently.
"No. After all, isn't that what brothers are for?" I wouldn't know. I voiced my naivety in the area. "Well, I dunno." His eyes widened, taken aback by this response. I cringed, afraid I had said something I shouldn't had.
"Well," he said uneasily, "I'll have you know that brothers look out for each other, and are, well, brothers!" I lifted an eyebrow. He wasn't getting his point across very well. Hamson frowned, realizing this. My brother set the trash bag down on the floor, and leaving the door open, he approached me once more. He crouched down until he was squatting, his hand on the tabletop for support. He looked up at me with a sort of sadness I have never seen in his eyes.
"I suppose," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion, "that I hadn't been a very good brother if you don't know this." I slumped in my chair. I felt stupid. Reading my mind, he said, "This is of no fault of your own. I suppose… I suppose that I'm a tad bit, well, unfriendly at times. Again, this is not your fault…" He turned his gaze from me, and looked at the ground, searching for words. I felt guilty; I didn't like seeing my brother this way. Somehow, it WAS my fault.
"Don't be sorry!" I cried out. "Really, it's okay…" "No," Hamson stated, shaking his head. "It is not okay. It's not okay that you can't see from the way I act what brothers are supposed to be like…"
"It's not your fault I'm stupid!" I argued, tears filling my eyes. My stomach didn't hurt as much as my heart did right about now. I began crying like a little child – which I suppose I was, being four. Hamson frowned, picked me up, and sat in my chair, sitting me on his lap.
I quickly found myself looking into his eyes, and I could see tears formulating in his own eyes. "Oh, Sam," he whispered, stroking my hair sadly, "you are most certainly NOT stupid. It is me." He pressed my head to his chest, and he sat his chin on my head as he rocked me gently like my mum used to. It still had a soothing effect.
"How could you be stupid?" I asked dumbly. "You're a big boy…" He chuckled, and replied, "Just because you're big, doesn't mean you can't be stupid." My brother laughed weakly again, and said, "I'm still pretty good at it."
A long pause ensued. Hamson continued to rock me, and many thoughts crossed my mind. After a very long time, I removed my head from his chin, and propped myself up, looking into his hazel eyes. "Maybe…" I suggested, "brothers are supposed to be stupid with one another."
He threw his head back, and began cracking up with laughter. His eyes laughing as well, he finally regained control of himself, and smiled at me. "Oh, Sam," he whispered, running his hand through my hair again, "you're not stupid, but that describes what brothers should be like better than I ever can." To my surprise, he leaned forward, and kissed my forehead – very un-Hamson-like.
"I'm sorry if you didn't already know this…but I love you, Sam."
After a pause, I responded, "I love you too…even if you are stupid."
He laughed again, and after a moment, I laughed with him.