AN: Wow…this has been kinda long since I last updated, huh? Almost a year. It's been so long I've forgotten most of my plot points. Nevertheless, I shall endeavor and hope it all comes back to me. Anyway, I've had this written down for most of the year so here it is for your reading.
In the space of two days, Hamfast had obtained leave from Bilbo, packed his bags and rattled off an untold amount of warnings and instructions to Samwise before embarking on his journey to Tighfield.
As soon as Sam stepped back inside #3 Bagshot Row after waving goodbye to his father, he felt utmost despondency wash over him. He was entirely alone in the small hole.
He thought of how his father would be joining his beloved family in Tighfield, and truly felt like an outsider in his own family. He headed down the hall to the bathroom, his favorite place in times of despair. There he broke down, and cried for hours on end.
Frodo shifted impatiently and craned his head to see down the lane, winding down the hill and through Bagshot Row. The sun peeked down at him through shielding clouds. Rain was looming, but the sun still shone in hope of chasing the clouds away.
From Bag End, Merry stepped out and made his way across the garden to where Frodo was waiting by the gate.
"Please, for the sake of the Shire, cousin, tell me why you have been standing in this spot for nigh on three hours now. There's breakfast left over inside, though it's not Sam's cooking as you favor highly, where is he anyway?"
"I don't know," Frodo replied, not taking his eyes away from the lane, "He hasn't turned up yet."
"It's not like him to be late, is it?" Merry asked, his expression puzzled.
"Never in his service has he ever been late," Frodo replied. "Where are you?" he muttered under his breath.
"Go down there, and see what's wrong, cousin if you're that worried."
"I can't, he'll think I'm interfering again."
"Interfering? In what?"
Frodo turned from the gate, his face drained of color. "Nothing, Merry, he likes his privacy, is all."
Merry scoffed. "Well, don't we all?" Frodo didn't reply, choosing instead to look back down the lane. He could see a Hobbit climbing his way up the hill, though he could tell it was not Sam.
"I want to do something for him, Merry. He thinks he has no friends, that nobody cares about him, but that's not true. I want to show him that."
"Well there's only one thing you can do," Merry replied, grinning mischievously and his eyes twinkled. Frodo turned to him, regarding him warily.
"What are you thinking, Meriadoc?" he asked his younger cousin, frowning skeptically.
"Frodo, you are a complete dolt if you don't know! It's Sam's birthday in less than a week! Throw him a party, invite anyone that knows him!"
Frodo mulled this over in his mind and nodded. "That's exactly it! A party for Sam! A perfect excuse for him to relax. Hoi! Hoi Jolly!" He called down the Hill, to the Hobbit that was approaching.
"Mornin' Mr. Frodo, and Master Meriadoc too. It's a fine day today, ain't it? Though not as pleasant for all, I deem." Jolly Cotton leant on the fence, and he noticed Sam's absence, though without a mention.
"Why, yes it is. You were a friend of Sam's, weren't you, Tom?"
"I'd like to think I still were, Mr. Frodo, though I couldn't wager a guess anymore. I can't remember the last time I had a decent chat with the lad, seems he's too busy nowadays."
"Well, I think we can sort that problem out," Frodo smiled, and turned to Merry. The younger Hobbit smirked. "We're holding a surprise party, for Sam's 20th. Would you like to come? I'm sure Sam would love to see you, and talk to you properly."
"A party? Doesn't sound like the sort of thing his Gaffer would agree to, if what I've heard is to be believed."
"He's not in Hobbiton at the moment, he's up in Tighfield, visiting his daughter."
"He's gone off and left Sam on his own?" Jolly started to look a lot less like his nickname, as Merry beheld grief and sorrow in his eyes. When Frodo nodded, Jolly looked down and took a deep breath. "Tom?"
"You have no idea what day it is today, do you sir?" He lifted his head, and Frodo saw the sadness in his eyes. Frodo flinched as realization flooded through him.
"Oh, Eru! Astron the first."
Merry turned his attention from Jolly to Frodo, confusion plaguing him. "It's Astron fool's day, what's bad about it? Besides the occasional prank from me."
"It's the day Sam's mother died." Frodo answered, his eyes closed in anguish.
"I don't reckon you'll see Sam here at all today."
Frodo rubbed his eyes with his left hand, chastising himself for being so stupid.
"Where was Bell buried?"
The Hobbiton burial ground was a small patch of land just outside the town, lying to the South. The grounds had been divided into two, with the mounds of the richer, statelier Hobbits resting to the West, and the poorer Hobbits laid to rest in the East. This divide was clear to see to all as the mounds in the West were well tended to. Flowers lined the earth around the mounds, and sometimes on the mound itself; there were ornate headstones, carved with chisel and stone and beautiful gardens and high trees surrounded them.
The poorer burial mounds were often bare, and not as well kept. The earth was dry, and no grass grew there. No headstone marked the graves, save the occasional wooden board, diseased and rotting. There was one grave that stood out in the Eastern section. One that looked beautiful, and extravagant enough to be placed in the Western grounds. The grass grew atop the mound, kept short by loving hands, and all around it, Bluebells grew. There was a slate stone, a recent addition that bore the name of she who rested there.
The young Hobbit knelt before her grave, plucking the petals of the last rose he bore. On the ground besides him lay the thorned stalks of beheaded flowers, and covering the mound, soft white petals lay.
So it was that Frodo came across Sam, deep in his mourning. He sat down besides him and gazed at the mound in wonder. It stood out in the Eastern section like a shining beacon, drawing all eyes to the grave of Bell Gamgee.
"Sam…" Frodo was at a loss of words to say, Anything he thought of he dismissed instantly as sounding inappropriate or uncaring. Instead he sat with Sam in silent mourning, laying down his mathom of yellow roses that he had brought with him.
"Does he know?"
"No, he doesn't know."
"All right…does he suspect anything?"
Frodo sighed in exasperation and gestured to the sky. "For the last time Merry, no!"
"Are you sure?" Frodo glared at his cousin with a look that would have killed him. Merry backed down with a grin. "Run through the plan again."
Rolling his eyes, Frodo groaned. "Sam is staying behind after work today, Bilbo will leave in the afternoon, seemingly to visit the dwarves, and stay the night. Sam thinks he's staying behind at my request, to keep me company. After dinner, I will tell him I wish to go for a walk, and deliver him to the Green Dragon, where you, Bilbo and everybody else will be waiting for him. Have you got it yet?"
"Got it! Loud and clear."
"Good, shouldn't you be organizing something?"
Merry feigned a look of hurt. "Dear cousin, you wouldn't be trying to get rid of me, would you?"
Frodo laughed as he playfully pushed Merry out of the door, "Go! Be off with you! I'll see you later."
"Goodbye cousin! Good day, Samwise!" Merry called to the lad as he walked down the path. Sam looked up from where he was raking the earth, and waved halfheartedly. Frodo frowned as he turned back to his work, sadness and depression hanging tight in the air.