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 Seven: Guard Duty
Frodo returned from his room as quickly as he had left and laid a piece of cloth on the dining table. It was pearly white and shone like burnished silver in the light of the one lantern. Sam stared at it hard. The material was flawless, beautifully flawless, save the curious little tears around the edges.
He set his teacup down shyly, shooting a look up at Frodo, who was standing over him. Frodo met his gaze and said, "I do believe you, Sam, and I'm afraid that tonight wasn't our sneak's first visit here. Bilbo?"
Bilbo was sitting across the table, his brows furrowed in concern. "I'm afraid I believe you too, Samwise."
"Could I…?"
"Yes, go ahead," said Frodo.
Sam reached out to brush the sleek material with his hard fingertips. "Ooooh," he said. "That is the same cloth as he was wearin'."
"He was wearing silk?"
Sam nodded. "It felt exactly as this 'un does and no mistakin' it."
Bilbo was the next to speak. "It seems our little sneak has fine taste."
"Fine taste indeed," said Frodo. "I can't think of many Hobbiton folk who can afford this kind of shirt."
"I can think of a few. What is it, a pocket?" asked Bilbo, picking it up, to which Frodo nodded. "Hmm. I don't like this."
"You don't like it?" said Frodo indignantly. "Uncle, whoever they are, they've been under my window. I don't know how they've been getting through he rosebush, but-but-I-it's unsettling." He crossed his arms, pressing his chin into his chest like a robin tucking in for the night. "I mean, who knows how many times they've been there, what they've seen."
"You can't tell your cousins about this," Bilbo said abruptly.
Frodo glanced up, his fair face glowing in the dim, yellow light, mouth askew in confusion. "What? Why ever not?"
"Tell them whatever you want, but don't tell-," Bilbo paused to check his voice, for it had grown louder than what would have been wise, at least with Brandybuck ears mere walls away. "Don't tell them," he started again in a hushed tone, leaning in. "what Samwise here saw. And," he added. "from now on keep your curtains drawn in the evening and at night…and in the early morning…and if it's overcast."
Frodo eyed his cousin hotly. "Uncle, why shouldn't they know?"
"This needs to be kept between us and just us, and I do have a reason."
"Well, what could it possibly be? Don't our neighbors at least deserve to know if there is a Peeping Tom about," insisted Frodo. "How else would we catch him?"
"I don't think it's a Peeping Tom we are dealing with."
"You don't?"
"No."
"Well, then who?"
Bilbo rested his elbows on the table, fixing Frodo with that scholarly look. "Someone who would want to slander the Baggins name. Someone who would profit, should the future master of Bag End be forced to give up his position for whatever reason."
Frodo's mouth fell open. "You think it's-but not even they would go sneaking around like that. Surely not."
"Yes, yes," Bilbo said with a wave of his hand. "We can't jump to conclusions. We can't go to Sherriff Robin. We have no evidence all except for a shirt pocket, and that won't get us far."
Frodo placed a firm hand on Sam's shoulder. "We have Sam's word."
"I'm afraid that won't get us far either. Not against them. And even if we did have decent evidence…no, we must catch our little sneak in the act. It's the only way. So here's my plan: we go on as normal. Samwise, you've scared our sneak off for a while, but he'll be back eventually, mark my words. And when he does, we'll catch him off guard."
"I wish it didn't have to be this way," sighed Frodo in a defeated sort of way, taking a seat next his gardener. "Are you alright with this, Sam? It seems you've been roped in without any say in the matter."
"A'course, Mr. Frodo," said Sam. "And next time maybe it won't go so much the same way, if'n ye take me meanin'."
"I do, and I'm thankful."
Sam fidgeted, a slight blush rising on his cheeks. "Ah, don't be, sir. I would help ye a'course, whether ye were thankful or not." He glanced up to see Bilbo watching their exchange curiously, those old eyes glimmering with thought in his well-preserved face. What he was thinking, Sam couldn't even begin to guess.
Politely, Bilbo lowered his gaze to take a sip of tea. "I suppose I don't have to tell you, Samwise, that you can't speak of this to anyone else."
Sam nodded professionally. "I understand, sir. Not even if me own Gaffer were threatenin' me with a rake."
Frodo chuckled, then downed the rest of his tea.
-0-
Frodo insisted on walking Sam home once they had decided that it was too late to continue speaking that night. Sam insisted that he was perfectly capable, but there wasn't really any debate on the subject. If Mr. Frodo said he was going to go, well, by Valar Mr. Frodo was going to go, and no Gamgee (or Boffin, Bracegirdle, or Proudfoot for that matter) could have stopped him.
Sam's walk was slow despite the hot tea, wound-tending, and brave words on his part. He swerved like a drunk. Frodo kept along, making sure not to out-walk Sam and steadied him whenever he looked like he was going to tip over into the roadside weeds. There was one instance, though, when Sam did tip over and Frodo failed to catch him. Sam went down on one foot in a spray of dirt and gravel.
"That's it," said Frodo, shaking his head. "We're taking a break."
"Beggin' yer pardon, Mr. Frodo, but we're more than halfway there. It's only a couple minutes on a normal day," insisted Sam, struggling to get up.
But Frodo held him down, gentle as ever. "Please sit."
Sam couldn't have done anything else than obey, but he eyed Frodo's concern skeptically. His master's shadow slumped down on the ground next to him, hair quivering in the moonlight. He took a few steady breaths and then turned to Sam and asked in a low voice, "Why does it always seem like you're getting hurt?"
"I don't rightly know," answered Sam honestly, carefully watching Frodo's face. "Ninnyhammer is as ninnyhammer does, I reckon."
Frodo shook his head angrily, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Whatever was bothering him, he didn't voice it.
This made Sam panic. "Did I say something, sir?"
"Yes," Frodo answered sharply.
Sam clamped his mouth shut, digging his fingers into the cold grass by his thighs. "B-beggin' yer pardon," he squeaked.
"No," said Frodo, with another violent shake of his head. "Begging your pardon."
Well, now Sam was confused. "I'm not angry with you," he ventured, but when Frodo didn't answer Sam fell silent, racking his brain for any idea of what Frodo was getting at.
"You don't get it," Frodo said finally.
"No, I don't," whimpered Sam. "Please, please tell me what's wrong, sir. Mr. Frodo, sir," said Sam, showering his master's name in despairing etiquette. "I don't know what I can do."
Frodo snapped right then. "That! That right there!"
"W-what?"
"Sir, sir, sir. Mister Frodo, sir. Begging my pardon over everything!" blurted Frodo. Sam sat back, eyes as wide as saucers. It was all he could do. Frodo had started, and he couldn't stop himself. "Anyone would think that you had just met me yesterday. You never speak your mind to me anymore, Sam; I know you don't. You-you-Sam, I've known you for eleven years now. You must know by now that I think of you as a friend. But apart from rare, little moments, you act like…like we've never said two words to one another, and when you do it's always followed by an apology. And it's just gotten more and more like that the past couple years."
Sam finally found his voice. "Please, s-well, it's only bein' proper."
"It's not proper to put yourself down all the time," he retorted.
"I-it's, I'm not…" Sam stuttered. Frodo was so quick on his feet. Sam had never won an argument with Mr. Frodo before (not that they argued, but there had been a few goofing-around debates back in the day, when they were just silly lads fooling around).
"Please, speak your mind, Sam," he said in a choked voice. He almost sounded sick.
Sam met Frodo's eyes and panicked at the sight of unshed tears, glimmering in the moonlight. His hands flew up on their own accord, hovering about Frodo's face, looking for some way to comfort him, but Frodo flinched away and wiped his own tears angrily. Sam dropped his hands quickly at his sides, face going hot. "It's not me place to do so. Y-ye know that. I can't."
"Well, why not? What could possibly happen?"
"I could get in big trouble."
"It's only me and you here."
"It would only lead to trouble. Please, sir. Why are ye cryin'?"
"I'm-I'm not crying."
"A'course ye ain't. But what has got ye so upset." When Frodo didn't answer, Sam tried again. "Please, sir. It be can't just about this."
Frodo met Sam's gaze dead on. His blue eyes were unrelenting. "There was a moment tonight when I thought you were dead."
"Oh," said Sam sympathetically. "Ye mean when ye first found me on the ground?"
"No. Merry found you first. He felt for your pulse wrong and, sort of, yelled it. I got there a few moments later and was able to feel your pulse myself, but those few moments, Sam, I thought-I thought for sure…"
"It's alright. I'm alright. It was just a quick scare."
"But it made me think."
"I know it did," said Sam, an insistent light in his eyes. "And I know what it made ye think about. I understand. I really do, but I shouldn't. Ye think of me as a friend, sir, and would ye believe that that's mutual? When we were younger we were maybe friends, I suppose, despite how things were-are-though I don't know why ye ever did put up with me and me endless questions and followin' ye around, and ye seemed to enjoy it too apparently, but I'm older now and I know better of what's proper and what ain't. Yer me master. I'm yer servant. And," he added quietly. "Me Gaffer has no tolerance for me uppity behavior now that I've grown summat into me responsibilities, ye see."
"It's your Gaffer then."
"I didn't say-there's many reasons."
"But am I correct in saying that he is the main reason?"
"Sir, he's no stricter than the rest of the Shire-I've never heard this kind of talk out of ye."
Frodo stared pulling at the weeds by his legs and tossing the green-grey clumps away. "You don't really care what the rest of Shire thinks, though. At least, not as much as you care what your Gaffer thinks." Sam opened his mouth to argue, but Frodo cut him off. "Be honest."
"Would that be an order?"
Frodo sat back to take in the image of Sam's face before him: suspicious and blunt, yet there was a small waver in his eyes. It was shockingly unlike him. Frodo spoke carefully. "No, it's not."
"Then I won't answer it."
Frodo ground his teeth together.
"Now, sir, I feel rested enough." Sam struggled to his feet, leaving Frodo sitting in the cold grass. "I think I can find me way home from here. Please…just get some rest."
Sam turned away, walking strong, but before he had gone ten feet he stumbled over a loose stone, caught himself, and stood up stiffly. The straw-colored waves of hair bounced back and forth about his half-turned face as he shook his head like a dog. His head was not held high (it never was), but as he continued on down the road there was a mustered dignity in his clumsy steps. Frodo sighed and jumped up to follow him, overtaking him in a matter of seconds, and took his arm gently. "No, Sam. I said I was going to walk you home, so I will."
At length, Sam nodded his head in consent, but didn't say a word, and that is how they went along for the rest of the way. There were so many things that Frodo wanted to say, but there were no words that would make Sam see it from his perspective. And how could he possibly blame Sam? Frodo had been thoroughly educated. He had read books about far off lands and people and newfangled ideas. But Sam had been born in a little smial to a working class family. Though Sam might have intelligence beyond his station, entertaining liberal thoughts and dreaming about far off lands was simply not practical for him. In fact, the Gaffer downright looked down upon it and had made it very clear to his son on more than one occasion, or so Frodo had overheard as Gaffer and lad toiled in the garden. 'So what,' thought Frodo. 'was I planning to accomplish.'
They finally reached Sam's door (a crude, worn piece of wood, noticed Frodo with a bitter taste in his mouth) and Sam didn't hesitate to knock. It swung open almost immediately, steaming light out, though it wasn't nearly as brightly lit as Bag End.
"Samwise Gamgee," rumbled the Gaffer's voice. "Where in the Shire have ye-oh, Master Frodo."
"My apologies, Hamfast. I sent Sam on an errand late in the day without thinking."
"So that's where ye were off to," he said, fixing his son with a reproachful look. "And without tellin' me. I thought ye had abandoned yer duties." Sam shook his head. "Hold on. What's the matter with ye?"
He had noticed Sam swaying on his feet and Frodo standing close, almost protectively, the bruise under Sam's nose. And he seemed to sense some of the tenseness in them, though he didn't seem to suspect that the tenseness was between them.
"I tripped and hit me mouth on a counter," said Sam quickly. Frodo shot a look at him, but he refused to meet it.
The Gaffer shook his head. "What am I to do with ye, Sam? Thank ye, Master Frodo, fer walkin' him home."
"Any time," Frodo answered awkwardly, as he watched Sam shuffle over the threshold. He was prepared to catch him should he trip. Sam, on the other hand, was trying to avoid as much eye contact with his master as possible. The Gaffer noticed this immediately.
"Samwise," he scolded. "Is that how ye treat yer master? I'm sure he has better things to do than walk yer simple self home." The Gaffer looked completely appalled. "I apologize, Master Frodo. Now, Samwise, ye turn yerself 'round right now."
Sam's fists clenched white-knuckled at his sides and as he turned around, Frodo saw that his face was beet red. It was the final humiliation of the day for Sam, one that nearly had him undone on his own threshold.
But the worst part: his eyes were trained upon the ground as he said it. "Beggin' yer pardon, Mr. Frodo, sir. Thank you fer walkin me home. It was very kind of ye."
"A-any time, Sam," Frodo breathed. The night's chill had crept up to him all of a sudden, traveling through every nerve and settling in the pit of his stomach. The nod he gave was really more like a twitch as he wished the two Gamgees a good night, and Sam returned it politely, though his eyes were veiled and wet.
When he reached Bag End a couple minutes later he hesitated on the step, a small, white hand on the knob. His composure wavered for a moment, but he screwed his face up like he had done so many times for so many different reason and opened the door. It was dark as he slipped in.
-0-
"Alright, now could you breath in for me? Good. Like that."
Cold metal pressed into the center of Frodo's narrow chest, making him shudder. Dr. Brown's face hovered close to him, his grey-streaked hair tipped downwards so that Frodo could see the balding patch in the center. He nodded to himself, seeming to come to some sort of conclusion. Then he lifted his wan face away and looked at Frodo kindly, almost sympathetically, for a moment before shaking his head.
"What's wrong?" asked Frodo.
"Absolutely nothing."
"Oh," said Frodo, finding his shirt and pulling it over his head. "Thank you anyways."
"Hold on there, lad. I'm not through." He took Frodo's chin and turned his head to examine both sides of his face. "You look drawn."
"I didn't sleep well last night."
"Did it have to do with your episodes?"
"No," answered Frodo. "It's unrelated."
"Well, I must say it's a real shame. You hadn't had an episode in a whole year, I believe. I was really hoping they were gone for good."
"Me too."
"I would prescribe something for you, but nothing is wrong with your lungs. They function just fine, so far as I am able to tell."
"Thank you, Doctor," said Frodo, getting up to leave.
"Hold on, hold on," he said, pushing Frodo back down. "I have an idea."
"What is it?"
"Would it be possible that these episodes have something to do, not with the body, but with the mind?"
"That could be."
"Do you remember the first time you were brought to me because of it?"
"Yes. Bilbo found me passed out," Said Frodo with a nod. "But that's all still a bit foggy to me."
"What was the first time you ever had an episode?"
"Well, I believe I was still living-no-it was after-after my parent's drowning."
"After as in 'chronologically after' or 'directly following'?"
Frodo gulped. "It happened a day after I learned of my parent's deaths."
"And that was the first time?"
"Yes."
"You're sure?"
"Yes, yes. I remember it very clearly."
"I believe I have spoken to you before about this. Do you remember what I said?"
"Of course," said Frodo. "You believe that the two are somehow connected: my parents and my episodes."
"Do you still think of your parents?"
"Occasionally. When something reminds me of them, but it's been so long now. I don't think of them much anymore."
"Were you thinking of them when you had your episode?"
"No, I wasn't. I was running, and I hadn't drunk much water that day or eaten much."
"That could definitely be it too, especially for someone who isn't accustomed to physical labor, like yourself."
"Yes," agreed Frodo, getting to his feet. "I promise to be more careful from now on, Doctor. And I know Bilbo will be relieved that nothing out of the ordinary was found."
Doctor Brown sighed, then took Frodo's hand and shook it. "Feel better, lad. Be easy on yourself for a while. Eat fat meals too. Oh, you've always been a skinny one. I swear I've got at least ten grey hairs on my head from you."
"I'll make sure to do that," he said with a laugh. "Have a good day. Say hello to Petunia and the lasses for me."
"I'll do just that."
Frodo stepped out into the wan sunlight. The day didn't seem to have quite recovered from the chilly night, though it wasn't too bad. The day before really had been the last pleasant day of the year. From here on out it was darkening days, colder weather, snow, and a Yuletide at Brandy Hall.
Frodo sighed and kicked a rock down the road as he made his way up to Bag End. He was simply too exhausted to be very cheerful about the upcoming festivities, his cousins were to leave in a few days, and he was afraid to run into Sam if he went back now, but as long as he stayed out of the garden and the kitchen, he should be safe.
As it turned out, Frodo's worrying was for nothing. He ran into his cousins the second he walked in the door, and Sam was nowhere in sight.
"Alright, cousin," said Aron, crossing his arms. "Looks like we've finally cornered you."
"Looks that way," agreed Frodo, hanging up his cloak.
"So what happened last night?" blurted Darec. "Your gardener keeps saying, ''tis not me place to say', ''tis not me place to say.'"
Frodo's brow furrowed in annoyance at hearing the impression. The way Darec spoke made Sam sound like he had been kicked in the head by a horse when he was younger. But Sam had acted cleverly, in fact. He left the lie-telling to Frodo, so that their stories wouldn't conflict.
"It's really not as interesting as you would like to believe. Sam saw a rabbit in the garden and tried following it back to its hole, but it started running and he started chasing and, well, you know the rest."
"Do we look like we were born yesterday?" asked Aron. "We all saw the big shiner on his face."
"I believe he got that at the market. He tripped and hit his mouth on a counter."
Merry leaned in close. "Come on, Frodo. You can tell us. We've talked about secret things before."
"There's nothing to tell."
Merry pulled back and crossed his arms just like Aron. They looked the pair. "You never tell me anything," he whined, and then he added lowly, "I'll find out what's going on. Forget these two. I promise I will."
"You'll be looking for a long time. Come on," goaded Frodo. "Let's go do something."
"Hrmph."
"I think Bilbo said lunch was ready," said Aron, though he was clearly still annoyed.
The image of Hamfast preparing their meals flashed in Frodo's mind. And, odds were, Sam would be in the kitchen helping him if there wasn't any immediately important work in the garden. The dining room was just a bit too close to the kitchen for Frodo's comfort.
"Let's go to The Ivy Bush instead. I feel a bit cooped up."
And so Frodo was able to avoid Sam the entire day. They ate filling meals at The Ivy Bush, where Frodo greeted friendly Hobbiton faces and introduced his cousins. The tavern was clean and pretty looking during the day, with high ceilings that one wouldn't bump their head on and bright oil lamps on all the glossy tables to make the place feel awake even though the windows were small and few.
Frodo was halfway through a rich stew when he heard the sound of laughter-well, it was a very particular kind of laughter: high-pitched giggling, and it was coming From behind him. He turned his head just a bit and the giggles were cut off abruptly. Carefully, he turned his head more and caught sight of four young lasses, dressed in bright, fashionable colors and wearing expensive hats. They all seemed to be trying to look away, one fiddling with the brim of her hat like it was the only thing in the world that existed. Confused, Frodo turned back to meet Aron and Darec's wicked grins.
"What?" asked Frodo. "What's going on?"
"Oh, cousin, cousin," chided Aron. "Sometimes it's hard to believe you're a year older than me."
Frodo frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Those birds over there, they are looking here-don't look now!"
Frodo froze. "They're looking over here? Are they looking now?"
Aron lifted his head and glanced slyly over Frodo's shoulder. His grin grew even deeper, then he met Frodo's eyes again and nodded.
"Can I look?" asked Merry, who was sitting next to Frodo.
"No, not right now."
"Alright. I can't be sure, but I think they're looking at me," whispered Darec.
"Don't be ridiculous. Did you see how they reacted when Frodo turned around? They were obviously looking at him, though how long the Hobbiton lasses have been looking at him without him noticing, I'm not sure," he teased and then a strange glint came into his eyes. "Am I the only one that noticed that there's four of them?"
"I'm not sure I like where this is going," said Frodo, eyeing his cousin's expression with concern.
"I don't think you fully grasp where this could possibly go."
Frodo fidgeted with his hands awkwardly. "I don't know what it's like at Brandy Hall these days, but Hobbiton is a little more conservative."
"Maybe because they haven't spent proper time with a Brandybuck yet. Seems to me, you haven't given these lasses the light of day so far."
"I know their families," said Frodo. "One is Doctor Brown's daughter, I believe, and I respect him and his family far too much to play around or toy with his daughter or whatever else you may have in mind."
Aron shook his head. "Oh, cousin, don't look at me like that. My interest is purely innocent. Maybe an intelligent conversation or a walk down the road." He glanced up quickly again. "But I have to say, that lass on the far right…I wouldn't mind having a conversation with her at all."
Oh, Frodo had to look now. He couldn't stop himself. "That's Ruby Bracegirdle, a cousin of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, I believe. And the lass next to her is her sister Opal."
Both of the lasses, now twittering into each other's ears, were pretty, young things, probably about Frodo's age by the looks of it. Their curling, fussed-over hair was brown and their skin, though paled by years of walking under parasols, retained a brown tint, hinting a Harfoot descent.
"I think I could talk to them," chirped in Merry.
"And that's Lilac Boffin," continued Frodo, indicating to a short, button-nosed lass, who had come of age the previous year. Her hair was fussed-up identically to Ruby and Opal's under a sweeping hat. "And that would be Poppy Brown, the good Doctor's daughter."
Poppy stood out noticeably from the gaggle, for her hair was longer, curlier, and redder. It was wasn't a pleasant ginger-red, but the color of a fire, and fussed up as well under a large, pink hat, but unlike all the other lasses in Hobbiton not a single hair was out of place, not one wayward curl or frizz. It was plastered about her head like burnished copper and held its shape like it too. She was buxom under the rich, pink dress she wore. Frodo knew for a fact that she was five years his senior.
"That Miss Brown," started Aron. "Have you ever spoken to her?"
Frodo paused to think. "Yes, sometimes if she is around when I speak to Doctor Brown. We've spoken before, I suppose, though not about anything very interesting. I'm actually surprised," added Frodo. "Usually she is escorted by her brother."
"Well, then here's your chance!"
Frodo started. "To do what? Talk to her? I have talked to her."
"And?"
"And we don't have much in common."
Aron made a strangled cry in his throat. "She's a lass, you're a lad. What more do you need?"
"Someone I can talk to," he remarked.
The dish-laden table clattered slightly, but no one paid any mind to it.
"Compliment her hair. Lasses like that."
"Yes, that would fill about ten seconds."
"Ask her where she got her dress."
"Why? I don't wear dresses."
"Sometimes I think it would suit you, cousin," he huffed. "How do you not understand this?"
Frodo opened his mouth to shoot back a smart remark, but was stopped short by the sound of Merry's voice coming from behind him. "Master Meriadoc Brandybuck at your service, good ladies." Which was followed by giggles and squeals of enthusiasm. Frodo turned in his seat, arm over the chair's back, to regard the image of Merry standing before the lasses' table, a hand placed chivalrously on his breast. Frodo, who's mouth was quirked in an amused smile, wouldn't doubt that he was shorter than each one of them.
"Aren't you cute," squealed Ruby. "Master Meriadoc Brandybuck, hmm? I wouldn't suppose you come from Brandy Hall, would you?"
"I would indeed. In fact, my father is the Master of Buckland."
"Oh, my," said Poppy, her voice high and innocent. "Would you like to join us, Master Meriadoc."
"Certainly," he chirped, taking a seat, though not before shooting a victorious look his cousins' way. "I have to say-Ruby, is it, if I may have the pleasure of calling you that-that hat is wonderful."
-0-
"I suppose you're feeling pretty smug right about now," said Aron. Merry was occupying himself by tossing an apple into the air and catching it, a small smirk toying at his lips.
"Not at all. I simply did what you were too afraid to do."
"What cousin Frodo was too afraid to do."
"Please," he said smoothly. "You would have been up talking to them and not trying to get Frodo to do it if you had had the courage."
Frodo let out a laugh, but Aron went brick red. "Like you had any real chance, Merry. If you hadn't been talking so much they would have placed their tea on you, thinking that you were just a little end table."
"That's funny coming from a giant coat rack."
"Why-!"
"I think I'll be off to bed," said Bilbo, sticking his head in the parlor door. "So if you talked a bit quieter, I would be much obliged."
"Actually, I'm tired too," said Frodo. "Goodnight uncle."
Bilbo retired and soon after, Frodo was able to convince his cousins to let him go to bed for the night. Of course, once there was no hope that he could persuaded to stay up a bit longer Merry decided it was time for him to go to bed too. Then, with exasperated groans and muttered complaints, Aron and Darec shrugged off to bed as well. By this time in their visit, Merry, Aron, and Darec each had their own room (the shared room arrangement only lasted for the first few nights until they realized they didn't get much sleep at all when they were in the same room), and Frodo had gone back to sleeping in his own bedroom, though he was a bit uneasy about it now. Every creak and crack last night had sent him to his window to peep out through the curtains. The shared room arrangement was starting to look better and better.
The curtains were closed when he came in and he changed in his nightshirt quickly, but just before he crawled into bed he took one peep through the curtains for the sake of paranoia. What he saw startled him. There, just on the other side of the thorny rosebush, a shadow lurked.
Frodo threw open his window (for it was either that or running, screaming down the hall) and spilled bright light out into the darkness. The figure jumped up immediately, but didn't run. It spun around with hands raised in surrender and materialized into a familiar hobbit.
"Calm down, calm down! It's only me!"
"Sam?" Frodo leaned farther out. "What in the shire are you doing?"
"Beggin' yer pardon, sir. I know this looks strange."
"You couldn't possibly be-Sam, you're not on…guard duty, are you?"
"'fraid I am."
"Did Bilbo ask you to do this?" Sam shook his head, no. "You did it on your own initiative?" He hesitated and then nodded. "Bilbo said it would be a while before the sneak-how long were you planning on waiting out there?"
Sam hung his head like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. "Not long. I've only really been here fer ten minutes, I reckon. No more'n that."
Frodo drummed his fingers on the sill. "It's freezing."
"It's not too bad once ye get used to it."
"Won't your Gaffer be angry?"
"He's asleep. I-I sneaked out." Sam's face was red now, though if it was from embarrassment or if it was from the cold Frodo couldn't be sure.
"Sam, I'm so sorry," Frodo sighed, leaning out farther into the night, precariously far over the rosebush.
"It's alright. It's not cold once ye get used to it. I promise."
"No, not that."
"Oh?" said Sam, tilting his head. "Oh! Oh, last night. No, no. please don't ye apologize to me, sir. Me heart couldn't bear it if ye did."
"But it was my fault!" insisted Frodo. The image flashed in Frodo's head of Sam turning around, wet eyes upon the ground. "I don't know what came over me to request such a thing from you. You were only doing your best to deal with me."
"Ye must know how sorry I am, Mr. Frodo and a'course I forgive ye, though there's nothing to forgive." Then Sam wiped at his face, for tears were in his eyes.
"You know, Sam, you are the best gardener that anyone could ask for."
Of course that did Sam in. He burst fully into tears then, a small sob escaping him. "S-sir, I've been thinkin'."
"What is it?"
"With everythin' that has h-happened and ye not even bein' able to talk to yer cousins about it and all, I was thinkin' ye might need someone to talk to who knows what's goin' on. A'course Bilbo knows, but maybe if ye wanted to, ye could come to me if ye needed to talk about things. Ye can call me a friend if ye want because that's what I call ye, ye know. Maybe we can be friends like ye wanted when there's no one around to look down upon it. Ye were right, sir. It can't hurt." Sam sniffed.
"Really, Sam?" asked Frodo, on the verge of tears himself. Sam nodded, though he seemed to be too choked up to speak. "That's so…thank you, Sam."
He nodded again. "B-beggin' yer pardon, sir, but I've been out too long already. Me Gaffer…"
"Of course, Sam. Go home, sleep well. I'll see you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow, sir." Sam bowed his head shyly and then jogged off out of the garden and down the road that would lead him to his warm bed.
But Frodo stood at the window for some time, just watching the dark, winter-foreboding clouds as they shifted across the sky, breaking for a short moment to release a moonbeam on him, before fading away. Sam had been right; the weather wasn't so cold.
Alright, alright. I'm sorry for being so cruel to Sam, but I think I was nice to him at the end. I just felt so good ending the chapter there:D Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed it. Take pity on me and please review.
