The next day he tried to initiate conversation. This was becoming an adventure relative to life in the Shire, and it excited him. Even if fear was a prevalent factor in the scenario.

"Where do you come from, Seville?" he asked.

She just eyed him for a moment. He turned to walk away, but then he heard her low drawl again.

"I have no family, if that's what you mean. And I have no home."

Frodo turned back to look at her. She flicked her eyes away from him . . . up to his face, then to the ground again. He knelt down by the log, and she stared as he did so. He crossed his arms over the earth and laid his head down on his arms. She shrank away, eyes widening furiously.

"Why not?"

She looked incredulous and irritated. Frodo swallowed, and wondered if she would do anything to him. "Because I'm a disgusting, dark thing," she said, matter-of-fact now. "No one would want me here."

Frodo frowned thoughtfully. "They wouldn't?"

She snorted. "Would you?"

He paused then, eyeing her. Her dress was not from here. In fact, looking closer, he realized it wasn't even a dress. She was wearing leggings, and shoes. Her feet were tiny, although her toes were peeking out. Perhaps her feet were growing. She only looked eighteen or so. And she was wearing a more male-style shirt and vest.

"Yes, I would."

The words escaping his mouth made no sense to him, and they seemed to frighten her.

"That is," he amended—her countenance fell at the beginning of his statement—"I would at least like to see you in the open. I've never really looked at you before."

Seville frowned, but her eyes glimmered. She wanted to come out, and Frodo knew it. He had only to reach in and pull her out.

And so, spurred by heedless-to-logic curiosity, he did.

Seville protested loudly at first, hissing and scrambling back. But the moment Frodo pulled her by the waist (she was light enough that her struggling made no difference) out from under the log, she stopped. He did as well. She was precisely his height; their eyes were nearly level, hers perhaps slightly lower. Then he studied her more closely, and realized her hair looked like fire. Her blood truly was black, and she was watching him as though mystified. Her lips were the most terrifying thing about her, though. Frodo hadn't noticed in the shadow, but he realized they were unnaturally dark. It scared him; she looked like she could bite.

After that, Frodo easily coaxed her into the open. Only soon after he began to call her a friend did she start to warm up to him. So to speak. Frodo was still unnerved by the immediate warmth he felt whenever she neared. It helped, he realized after some time; she couldn't sneak up on him, and he was never caught unawares when neither he nor she knew they were close to each other.

Eventually he accidentally called her Sam. He expected her to be upset with him, but instead she laughed. It was not a beautiful laugh, but it was thrilling to know she was that comfortable.

"I'm sorry," she gasped after a minute. "I'm sorry . . . I can just imagine what was going through your head!"

Frodo paused, then shrugged. "I beg your pardon," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to."

"No, actually." Seville held up a hand. "I would rather you did call me Sam than Seville."

"I can't call you Sam," Frodo said. "I already have Sam."

"Call me Sev, then," she said, throwing her extended hand into the air. Then she straightened. "Hey. Actually, that sounds perfect. Would you be all right, calling me Sev?"

He nodded. He liked it a little better; it sounded a bit more casual than considering Seville, who had been a nightmare in the concept of hobbits whenever any gossips chanced to bring it up. Sev sounded, also, more hobbit-like.

From that point on, he hardly noticed the blackness of her blood, or the pale essence of warm skin. In fact, he sought her out sometimes, when no one else would bother to fantasize. He knew she would; she always did. In fact, she could take it and run with it more readily than he did.

After a short time she joined Rosie Cotton behind the counter at the Green Dragon. Frodo thought she would have a hard time with all of the people there, but she liked Rosie. While he hardly noticed but the ale and Pippin and Merry's singing, once he saw Sev and Rosie laughing together. He felt a pang of something . . . something that had never been before. He wondered what it was, but dismissed it almost immediately as soon as it came up.

Eight years after the day Frodo pulled her out from under the log, he realized he was almost 33, and still knew nothing about where she had come from, much less her age. He didn't really care; she hadn't changed much. He shrugged it off.

Then came Bilbo's 111th birthday, and Frodo's 33rd. Preparations would be many, and Frodo knew, while excitement would end the day, it wouldn't be much to speak of for some time. So he grabbed a book and ran off to the entryway of West Farthing to greet Gandalf. He forewarned Bilbo first, for Bilbo would pay attention to no one until the party was set up, and yet would somehow be shocked at Frodo's disappearance.

Usually Sev was out prowling at this time of the morning, so Frodo read alone. As often happened, a blade of grass found its way into his mouth during one of the climactic moments. He twisted the tip of it around, reading intently. He heard a scuffle behind him, but it was probably Sev spying; therefore he paid little mind. Then he felt her warmth grow near, perhaps on the other side of the tree, and he debated turning around to bring her to his side to read with him.

Then he heard Gandalf humming. Or . . . he thought he did. It faded in and out of earshot, and he slowly set his book down with the forgotten grass. He turned, listening, and he could finally hear it fully. He smiled, dashing off and down the slopes to the main road of the Shire.

Frodo could see Gandalf as he approached in a two-wheeled cart. Frodo halted on the top of a steep, short slope overlooking the road. He folded his arms as the wizard approached, and interrupted him before he could move on without Frodo.

"You're late," he said, accusatory.

Finally the wizard drew his horse to a stop. He looked up solemnly. "A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins," he said. Frodo maintained a stern expression. "Nor is he early; he arrives precisely when he means to!"

Frodo struggled to keep his face set seriously, but the moment Gandalf's mouth collapsed into a smile (with a laugh), Frodo began to chuckle. "It's wonderful to see you, Gandalf!" he cried, unable to contain himself. He leaped from his vantage point into Gandalf's arms, laughing as Gandalf embraced him. Then Gandalf set him down on the seat beside him.

He clapped Frodo's shoulder. "You didn't think I'd miss your uncle's birthday."

As they rode, Gandalf continued to inquire after Bilbo. "So how is the old rascal? I hear it's to be a party of special magnificence."

Of course Gandalf would have heard that. Frodo shook his head. "You know Bilbo. He's got the whole place in an uproar."

Gandalf chuckled knowingly at that, shaking his head. "That should please him."

"Half the Shire's been invited," Frodo continued, "and the rest are turning up anyway!" They laughed again.

Then Frodo asked how and where Gandalf had traveled, what he had been doing, what he had seen. Gandalf didn't entirely answer his question, just commented on what a curious, unusual hobbit he was. He explained that everything was going normally outside and inside of the Shire. It disappointed Frodo only a little, but didn't come as a surprise to him.

They spoke of Bilbo a little more. Frodo worried; Bilbo had become slightly more eccentric, and had talked about leaving the Shire.

"He's up to something," Frodo said finally. Gandalf didn't reply, so Frodo glanced up at him. The wizard turned away, although Frodo figured he'd been watching him.

"All right, keep your secrets!" Frodo accused. "I know you have something to do with it." Gandalf feigned ignorance, so Frodo continued. "Before you came along, we Bagginses were very well thought of: never went on adventures or did anything unexpected."

Gandalf adjusted his pipe. "If you're referring to the incident with the dragon, I was barely involved. I just . . . gave your uncle a little nudge out of the door."

Frodo seriously doubted that. "Well, whatever you did, you've been officially labeled a disturber of the peace." He stared at Gandalf, waiting for the wizard to confess, but the oblivious expression that followed convinced Frodo Gandalf would say nothing on the subject.

They passed an outer-reaching home of West Farthing, where Gandalf lit off fireworks. Frodo smiled; he'd been worried the wizard wouldn't comply, and yet his expectations had not been above the mark. Gandalf laughed delightedly.

Frodo stood once they were relatively close to Bag End, and it would be a sufficiently long walk back to where his book lay on the ground.

"Gandalf," he said, and the wizard looked up. "I'm glad you're back."

"So am I, dear boy!" Gandalf called after him as he leaped from the cart. He waved at Gandalf while the wizard carried on. Frodo turned to go find his book again . . . until he heard a barely audible squawk from beneath one of the bushes. He paused, and glanced under it to see Sev. Her eyes were widened, and her nose was buried in his book.

As she read, her emotions jumped up and down; it showed in her actions very clearly. She would gasp, sometimes laugh, sometimes growl angrily. Frodo admittedly enjoyed watching. He knew he didn't do that. Sev was the only hobbit he knew who did.

As he studied her, he remembered she had eventually abandoned shoes altogether, making her more hobbitlike than before. He glanced down at her feet. While they had grown, he hadn't seen hair on them yet. She truly was strange.

He wondered how close he could get before she noticed. He gently crept toward her, then sat down with his legs crossed. She didn't even move. He touched her toe with his finger. It surprised him how warm and gentle she was as a whole. Her foot flicked away, but otherwise she did not react. Her eyes were glued down at the book.

Frodo chuckled as he slipped his fingers over the top of the page. Sev screeched in a rather catlike manner, then ducked into the bush behind her. Leaves shook off of the bush. Frodo laughed uncontrollably, and Sev rolled her eyes as she emerged.

"You poke thy unbidden hands into my novel, Sir Knave, and so I reclaim it!" Sev shoved a hand over his eyes—a common gesture among his friends as a sign of jocoseness—and although the action was typical, it took Frodo aback. She had done it before, but now her hand felt gentle, and feather-soft. Frodo's head tilted back, and his grip against the book slackened. Before he could process how soothing it was to have her hand over his face, she had bounded a pace away.

He chuckled again; he had to think of a reply that matched hers in its bookishness. "It was my world first; this is unjust."

"You want it?" she asked innocently. "Then come and fight for it!" With that Sev ran off. Frodo wondered if she even liked running. She didn't do it often, mostly slinked places. Perhaps she had just adapted with larger feet.

Regardless, Frodo had to expend no energy at all in catching up with her. He couldn't jump over undergrowth as quickly or easily, but that mattered not. Mostly the Shire contained even ground. That gave him a definite advantage.

Once he caught up to her, he had but to loop an arm around her waist to slow her down. A simple hand to her shoulder spun her around. His fingers then had but to lock ever so slightly about the book, and she released it.

Frodo didn't feel done, but she apparently wasn't going to fight back. He sighed, then gently tugged on her elbow until she sat next to him in front of the nearest tree. He wanted to read it with her, although probably less for sake of the book itself than to watch her reactions. They were thoroughly entertaining.

"Sometimes I wonder why you let go so easily," he said despite himself. Then he shrugged it off, hoping she didn't notice or didn't care that he wanted to continue chasing her, or at least have her read the book as well. Then he glanced down at the page number. She had read quickly.

Then he began to read, waiting for her reactions. He waited until she had read the pages opened; she'd laid her head against his shoulder, and he could feel her tense at moments of development, then settle at a romantic line or two. The unnatural warmth of her presence breached his side like a blazing fire. He couldn't but watch. She surprised him sometimes.

He watched her eyes impatiently flicker over the words, waiting for him to finish and continue the story. Then she stiffened. Maybe she knew something was wrong. Or she had found another spot in the book that troubled her, one she hadn't noticed before.

Not so. She turned up to look at him, blue eyes widened fearfully. He just grinned, and she backed away, flusteredly (and exaggeratedly) brushing herself off. He chuckled, but now that Sev knew he'd been watching, he couldn't imagine she would lose herself again. He began reading more, and got lost in and of himself.

Sev coughed, and his gaze flickered out of the book, but not for long. She spoke his name very carefully, but he had to get through the chapter first. And so he did. Then he glanced up at her.

She apologized, but he waved it off. Then Sev hemmed and hawed for a second.

"Bilbo's birthday—and yours—are to be celebrated tonight, at Bag End . . ." Frodo knew this, and knew she knew; he just wondered where she was going with it. ". . . and I wondered if . . ."

He cocked his head, waiting for her to continue.

"You love dancing, do you not?" she said, her voice reverting to an average casual air. He felt inclined to nod excitedly, but decided to wait until she had finished. "Could I accompany you tonight?"

Frodo felt his eyes light up. Sev loved dancing just as much as he did; so she wasn't the best at it, but she showed enthusiasm for little, and those few things she was enthusiastic about stirred something deep within him. When he saw her no longer glaring at everything around her (which she often did) he felt right.

Despite that, only a shrug and a smile emerged. "Sure!" he said. He felt far more ecstatic, but didn't understand why. Bothered by his confusion, he turned back to his book, looking for answers, or at least a distraction from the concept of dancing with Sev. And that she had asked him.

She sounded surprised. "Really? When do you want to meet me, and where?"

Frodo's words crunched in his throat on the way out. "I'll come get you." His voice drifted. He was nervous. She'd always scared him, but this was ridiculous. "Right after afternoon tea." He didn't look up. He couldn't.

"See you then!" she called, racing down the hill. Apparently she still wanted to prowl. He couldn't begin to guess her motives for asking him to dance, then leaving before he'd finished the book. He'd been hoping, since afternoon tea wasn't too far away, that Sev would stay. He pondered going after her.

But the intense part was coming up, and she might only distract through that.

He read through that, not finishing the book itself, before he turned to find Sev. He had no idea where she lived, he realized. After he'd pulled her out of the log, she spent most of her time with Rosie, or prowling around. He hadn't even seen her under the log since eight years before.

So he went to find Rosie. He found her graciously accepting the flowers for garlands, accented with ribbons. Sam really had done some extra this time.

He asked them if either had seen Sev. Rosie shrugged and said she hadn't, and they both turned to Sam, expecting a response. Frodo didn't actually expect one; he was merely afraid of Sev, despite the comfort that had grown between them. Considering that circumstance he couldn't imagine what it was like for poor Sam around Rosie, even though that needed to be remedied.

And dancing would be the perfect time for that.

Sam stepped gently a safe distance from Rosie towards Frodo, then whispered, "I haven't seen her, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo bit his lower lip to cut off a chuckle. He responded, whispering just loudly enough for Rosie to hear, "Is this information such that Rosie shouldn't know?" Rosie grinned hugely and hung her head.

Sam had no response to that for a minute. He looked a little confused and flustered.

"No, Mr. Frodo," he said finally, still calculating why or why not Rosie shouldn't know.

Frodo nodded. "Thank you, Sam. Rosie." He turned away to let them continue, but Sam timidly bowed a little to Rosie and scrambled after Frodo instead.

"Usually Sev isn't where someone could find her, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, catching up. "It could take you all day to find her."

Frodo shrugged. "She told me to meet her for afternoon tea, but I have no idea where."
Sam frowned. "It could be any number of places. Good luck, Mr. Frodo."

"Thank you for the encouragement, Sam." Frodo clapped Sam on the shoulder before Sam turned back toward Bag End, and Frodo set off again to see if he couldn't find Sev. He wondered if he ought to check the log.

He met Gandalf on the way back to the log, which was near enough to Bag End that Gandalf was going back and forth. Soon Frodo was helping drag fireworks over to the party, and a plethora of other things that he could not particularly recall later. The remainder of the day was mostly a blur until the sun had set, and Sam approached him.

"Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo was hanging lights in the party tree, stepping carefully from branch to branch as he looped them around. "Yes, Sam?"

"I found Sev."