Frodo awoke slowly, enjoying the feeling of waking in a sunlit room. He sat up and shrugged off the covers, yawning. As he did, his eyes caught on a sealed letter sitting on his bedside table. Beside it lay a thin stalk burgeoning with small yellow flowers. Frodo vaguely recognized the flowers as forsythia. He paused, reaching out taking the letter and flower in hand, a warm joy filling him. Frodo's eyes went to the flower bunch again and lingered there. On impulse he stood up and went to his bookcase and took down Minto Boggy-Hillocks' Floral Emblems with Illustrative Poetry, and flipped to the page on forsythia.
"Forsythia for anticipation," Frodo read and snapped the books shut, sinking down onto his bed once more. It was very probable that every flower Sam had given him held a message, Frodo realized. He had only been too dense to think to look them up.Sam must think I'm either heartless or witless, he thought, unhappily. But no, Sam wouldn't. Sam was too kind to ever think that, and he'd love him no matter what Frodo managed to bungle. Frodo sank back against his head board and sighed, watching the dust motes float in the sunbeam above his head.
He held up the sealed letter, turning his attention to it, savoring the feeling of anticipation, a smile growing as he gently broke the wax seal. Frodo sat very still, reading in the warm room with his legs crossed under him. Slowly he lowered the letter to lay in his lap and sat for several moments in silence, his eyes closed. Then he rose, his head swimming as he moved automatically, washing his face at the washstand, buttoning his shirt and fastening his waistcoat and breeches. He turned and gazed at his window, the curtains opened and blowing gently in the morning breeze, no doubt drawn back by Sam himself. Frodo went to the window and leaned out.
Sam was out there, though far away in the back corner of the vegetable plot with his back turned. Frodo watched him silently as Sam worked, weeding the rows. This weeding went on for several minutes before Sam reached the end of the row and turned to move to the next, when his eye finally caught sight of the one watching him. He slowed and then stilled for a long moment, before abandoning the weeds and standing, walked toward the window.
"Good morning," Sam said as he came to stand under the eve. His tone was charmingly nervous to Frodo's ears. Frodo leaned down and held out his hand, which Sam took without hesitation. Frodo capped it with his other hand and gave Sam a smile, knowing that his face was aglow with joy.
"Good morning," he said and drawing Sam's hand up kissed it. Sam gasped and bit his lip. Frodo laughed quietly and added, "You know, there are few sights fairer than seeing you in the garden with the morning light all about you." Sam clutched the side of the smial, his knees looking as if they had suddenly gone weak.
"Aah, me dear," he murmured.
"Your letter was beautiful," Frodo told him softly, "I can't tell you what it means to me." Sam's cheeks pinked but he smiled shyly, looking pleased.
"I'm… glad. It's fair hard to know how to go about writing such a thing, but I'm glad I done it."
"As am I," Frodo assured him and drew his hand away. "I am planning on being away today. I have some errands and business in town, but I'll be back by tea. If I don't see you before you leave I wonder if you might like to join me for an early dinner," he took a breath, "say six o'clock?"
"Aye. That sounds fine," Sam breathed.
Frodo set out shortly after first breakfast. He was eager start on his errands and be back in time to cook dinner and bathe and do anything else he might think of before Sam arrived that evening.
He set his eyes to the path ahead and began to plot. It wasn't only innocent errands he was set on this morning, but a reckoning. He had decided he must act and settle his cousin before he could be at ease. Sam had looked at him days ago and said that he saw their coupling as something special, with time and privacy and the outside world locked away and settled so that it would not intrude and Frodo was determined that it would be so.
He had puzzled over how to deal with his cousin for several nights and finally had hit on a solution that was so blindingly obvious he was stunned he hadn't seen it before. Frodo turned off the Overhill path and walked out into the county for a mile or so, out to his distant aunt Gingerella and her sister Emerald Grubb's country smial. They were hosting the Sackville-Bagginses while they stayed close to Hobbiton and Lobelia got on famously with Gingerella. Frodo had never spent much time around Gingerella or Emerald, despite their proximity, because Bilbo had said in dark tones that the sisters werepoetry haters. What had sealed it, apparently, was a remark that Gingerella made decades ago, disparaging dwarves and Bilbo had loudly and publicly sworn off ever speaking to her again.
Frodo came up the path and to his quiet satisfaction saw that Lotho was sitting in the garden out front, smoking. He caught sight of Frodo and stilled for a long moment as Frodo moved closer, coming at last to lean against the gate, peering in at him.
"Good morning," Frodo said coolly.
"Good morning," Lotho said carefully and snuffed his pipe. They stared at one another, warily until Frodo straightened.
"Look here," he said, "It's not worth it for either of us to fight." Lotho rose, his eye wide in incredulity.
"No?" he huffed, "You'll ruin my name!"
"Don't be stupid. No one is going to mistake a Baggins for a Sackville-Baggins or the other way round," Frodo growled.
"I'm not going to put up with your sort-"
"Lotho," Frodo said very sharply and Lotho gasped despite himself, for Frodo had finally let his fury show, "if you ever threaten me or my friends, if you breathe one more word on the subject of my business then I will write you out of our line of succession. You and your family will never see Bag End!" Lotho gaped, deeply shocked.
"I- I say!" he stuttered, "You can't!"
"Oh yes I bloody can," Frodo snarled, "I am the heir to the Hill whether you like it or no, and it is I who will determine the destiny of the Baggins estate after Bilbo."
"The… Rules…" Lotho said weakly, "The estate will pass through the patrilineal line… to maintain agnatic primogeniture!"
"Oh, someone has been reading," Frodo remarked.
"Frodo this isn't funny!" Lotho gasped.
"No it bloody well isn't," Frodo said again, feeling extremely pleased at the mounting panic in his cousin's face. "I know, you were angry and felt you had to get back some of your own, but you went too far. I will tie the place up in so much legal paperwork your solicitor could have no chance at unraveling it all in a hundred years. I shall have the line altered in such a way that it jumps as far from you as possible. I think I may direct it toward the Chubb-Bagginses. Dear old uncle Falco always did have a place of affection in my heart."
"You bloody…" Lotho huffed.
"Oh the other hand," Frodo said smoothly, "It is far less trouble for me to leave things as they are." He paused, watching Lotho, who was staring at him, his face red now in suppressed rage. "I'm not unsympathetic to your family's claim on Bag End. I'm sure it was a terrible disappointment to your mother all those years ago, so I will tell you my terms: I shall leave your family in place behind me to inherit the estate, and this too, should I ever decide to sell the place I shall offer it to your family first."
"At a marked up rate I shouldn't doubt."
"At whatever rate an administrator decide the estate is worth. I will offer you a fair price, you have my word," Frodo said. Lotho swallowed and looked away.
"Upon what conditions?" he asked.
"That you keep silent on my personal business and harm no hobbit under my protection," Frodo said in a low dangerous voice, "That you will not so much as speak to any member of the Gamgee family unless it is to offer them a good morning. If there is even the barest hint of rumor or ill will from you then your chance at the estate vanishes." He paused and added, "We have had this little skirmish, like lads do, but cross me again cousin and the results will be far less pleasant for you than a trip to the shirriff's root cellar. It is not wise to tamper with me. I have many friends and they shall be watching you."
"No hobbit would dare raise a hand against me," Lotho said through his teeth. Frodo smiled slightly.
"Not all my friends are hobbits," he said softly. Lotho gaped for a long moment then closed his mouth and turned away.
"It is easily done," he said quietly, "I have no interest in your sordid affairs. I suppose that whatever you do to shame yourself doesn't concern me, especially if we make an effort to avoid one another, something I am all too willing to attempt."
"As am I," Frodo agreed.
"Very well. I agree to the terms," Lotho said blandly, "But I should like to have this in writing."
"This is not the sort of agreement that one files with a solicitor," Frodo said slowly. Lotho paused, thinking for a long moment.
"No," he agreed, "I suppose not. But I have only your word and your threats. I should like some assurance, something that will hold you to our little agreement."
"I cannot think what that would be. I have nothing to offer you but my word," Frodo said.
"Then I would have a promise from you," Lotho said thoughtfully, "I have agreed not to meddle in your affairs, so I would ask the same from you."
"Very well," Frodo agreed slowly.
"And I should claim some token, some collateral to be returned upon you meeting your promise," Lotho said.
"What's this, you want the remaining silver spoons?" Frodo laughed humorlessly.
"The pipe you carry, it was your father's wasn't it?" Lotho asked quietly. Frodo stilled.
"You want my pipe?"
"I want something dear to you," Lotho answered, "And knowing you as I do, that pipe is worth more to you than all the jewels in Bag End." Frodo did not answer for a long moment. "We must both be willing to compromise. And just think, you'll get it back someday if you sell the smial to me." Frodo frowned at the part left out, that the other way of meeting the terms of the agreement would be his death and the estate passing to the Sackville-Bagginses.
"Very well," Frodo sighed and drew the pipe from his jacket pocket. He handed it to Lotho and the two hobbits looked hard at one another.
"Though there will never be any amity between us, cousin," Lotho said quietly, "our fates are twined. I fear this agreement only serves to bind us tighter to one another."
"On the contrary," Frodo said stepping away, "My fate and your fate are bound to more important matters than property and estates. Good day." With that Frodo touched his cap and set off, turning his back on his cousin.
Frodo came into town about noon. He had wandered the countryside for a few hours, enjoying the breeze and the solitude of a morning walk. He also needed time to calm his nerves after the encounter with Lotho. Though it had gone mostly well, he hadn't enjoyed it, less so when he had handed over his father's pipe. That had cost him dearly but Frodo told himself sternly it was only a thing. What he had gained was far more valuable.
He also felt a slight unease about threatening his cousin, but it had been justified he felt. He may not have had friends outside the Shire, as his uncle did, but he tended to take advantage of Bilbo's reputation for madness and strange guests when it suited him.
He ate a pleasant lunch at the Dragon and then continued to the market stalls, purchasing onions, mushrooms, and a small hen wrapped tight in cloth and packed with ice in a small grass basket. He paused at the little creek that ran through town and set his bags down. It was afternoon now and the sun was warm. Frodo shrugged off his waistcoat and sat in the shade, easing his feet in the cool gurgling creek water. He watched the townshobbits drifting from stall to stall from across the creek. There was Mr. Bulger and Mr. Grubb and Mrs. Goodbody gossiping and bargaining and laughing. Frodo felt wonderfully sleepy in the shade and was about to lie back, soothed by the water sounds when he saw Bilbo in the distance. He was walking along the main road laughing with old Mr. Underbarrow.
"Bilbo, good old Bilbo," Frodo murmured to himself. He lay down, and gazed up at the whispering branches above. He was slipping into dream and memory and with a sigh Frodo allowed himself to drift away.
Years ago it was, he had walked the shelves of the Brandy Hall library staring at the soft brown leather books, some with their spines crisp and supple, some worn with bindings showing, and some turned dark, so that they left smears of powdery redrot on his hands when he touched them. Gingerly, he reached out and drew a thin volume, rubbing the soft cover. He opened the book but only odd cramped runes met his eyes where he expected to find a title page. Frowning Frodo looked up at his aunt Esme who was squinting at her own book in the dim candle light.
"Aunty?" he asked.
"Hm?" she murmured without looking up. Frodo held the book out to her.
"What is this? It looks like some strange language," he said. His aunt turned and gazed down at the runes, nodding.
"It's the fairy language," she said, "we don't have many of those sorts of books, but there are the odd one or two scattered about." She went back to her book of poetry, turning a page. Frodo drew the fairy book to his chest and leafed through the pages curiously.
"Is there anyone at the Hall who can read it?" he asked.
"I shouldn't think so," Esme said quietly, "Some of the Took relations might be able to read it."
"Oh," Frodo said, looking for illustration now, but to his disappointment there were none. Only the odd bit of illuminated script. "We don't get many Tooks here, except the holidays," he murmured quietly, "Where did the book come from?"
"That one? I think your uncle Bilbo gave it to Sara several years ago. Not terribly useful, but his mathoms seldom are."
"Have I met uncle Bilbo?" Frodo asked as he flipped to the back cover to see if there was any writing he could read.
"I don't think so. He lives out in the West Farthing so we almost never see him," Esme said and glanced up, "Bilbo might be able to read it. I think he claims to read fairy letters." She chuckled softly, "Mind you Frodo-lad, you mustn't listen to what your uncle Bilbo says. Everyone thinks he's quite mad."
"Really?" Frodo looked up. He liked relations that the Brandybucks thought mad. It generally meant they were entertaining.
"Oh he's harmless," Esme said, "And rather good at story-telling if I recall. I'll have to write him to come next Yule so you can meet the old dear. Maybe then he can tell you something about that book."
"Thank you, aunty," Frodo had replied. The next memory he had having to do with Bilbo was later at Yule. He had been on his way to bed when he heard raised voices from the parlor and paused in the hallway outside.
"I beg your pardon mam, but I can't be having this gentlehobbit in and out of the servant's wing."
"Oh really," Frodo recognized his aunt Esme's voice, "I don't see why you're so upset Proudfoot. Surely other gentlehobbits visit the servant's wing?"
"Other gentlehobbits don't give lessons in thievery to the footmen."
"Burglary," an old slightly cranky response came, "not thievery. There is a marked difference."
"I beg your pardon sir," the stiff butler replied, "But I don't see much of one."
"Bilbo-dear," Esme said, "Not everyone appreciates your rather odd sense of humor. Do please refrain from burglary lessons this visit."
"Oh very well," Bilbo grumbled. Frodo had chuckled, and continued down to hall to seek his bed. He was looking forward to meeting this eccentric uncle of his. But the next day he had been called away to house duties and seeing to his visiting cousins. He forgot about seeking out Bilbo. That evening, he was cornered by a group of Brandybuck uncles and by seven o'clock he was seated and eating with his uncle Dinodas, Amaranth, and Gorbulas in one of the further flung wings of the Hall.
Their talk had been boring and they mostly ignored Frodo, which was fine with him. He had even imagined that he might slip away when done with his food, offering to fetch his uncles their brandy and pipes before making a quiet exit, but that was not to be.
"… But of course young Frodo would know nothing of that, the poor lad," uncle Dinodas said. Frodo came back to the conversation, guilty and uneasy that he had not been following along.
"Maybe not, but the boy is very attached to his aunt," Gorbulas said in a low voice. Frodo froze then quickly resumed his eating, staring at his plate.
"Well, no parents," Dinodas observed, "any wonder that he looks to Sara and Esme?"
"He hardly looks to Sara, its Esme he spend his time with. And not just Esme," Gorbulas said slowly, eyeing Frodo from across the table, "Sits with all the lasses at their sewing and reads. The boy hardly associates with his fellows. Isn't that right Frodo?" Frodo held very still.
"Oh, Frodo my lad, we'll get you doing proper things this holiday," Amaranth said.
"What's wrong with associating with the lasses eh?" Dinodas laughed, "I rather associate with the lasses too. Good on you I say, Frodo." Gorbulas cast a withering look at Dinodas. There was a long silence before Gorbulas shifted in his seat.
"You know what they say about poetical lads," he growled, "weak character. Limp in body and wicked minded."
"Oh," Dinodas said and cast a surprised look at Frodo. Amaranth snorted in amusement.
"You must beat that out of him," he said.
"Saradoc said it would cause a stir, Frodo Baggins turning up at breakfast with welts all over him," Gorbulas murmured, "but I don't see why he couldn't be beaten where it wouldn't show."
"Frodo-lad, is this true?" Dinodas said, putting his wine glass down to frown at his nephew. Frodo raised his eyes and met Dinodas' stare but didn't speak.
"Tis a shame old Drogo isn't here. Proper chap he was, even for a Baggins. He'd put a stop to this," Gorbulas said pointing across the table, "Drogo wouldn't have stood having such wickedness in a son. Saradoc is too soft, he seems to think Primula wouldn't have want the boy beaten." He leaned back and stuck a pipe in his mouth, "Maybe so, but lasses don't understand. They don't see what goes into making a proper gentlehobbit. I know my sister would not have wanted her boy to degrade himself in such a way."
"I beg your pardon, but I would rather you didn't-" Frodo murmured.
"Don't talk back to your uncle," Amaranth said, almost absently.
"Please stop talking about my parents," Frodo said, hearing his voice grow stronger.
"And I beg your pardon," Gorbulas growled. "But if I choose to speak, a Baggins welp like you isn't-"
"I'm sorry," came a calm voice from the hallway. Frodo twisted around in surprise and saw standing framed in the doorway an old hobbit dressed in a fine red brocade weskit with gold buttons and matching smoking jacket. But it wasn't his clothes that caught Frodo's attention, but his bright inquisitive eyes full of intelligence, and those eyes were focused on him.
"Bilbo," Dinodas said with some hesitation in his voice, "what brings you to this side of the Hall?"
"Fancied a stroll," Bilbo said briskly, "Now then, did I hear the name of Baggins taken in vain?"
"A joke, cousin," Gobulas said quickly with loathing in his voice.
"It didn't sound like a joke," Bilbo said stepping into the room, peering at Frodo.
"This isn't any of your business, Bilbo," Amaranth said.
"Well that's a bit sharp. I thought this was the season of cheer and hospitality. I would have expected better from Brandy Hall," Bilbo said, looking completely unflustered and in fact very amused.
"Right you are cousin Bilbo," Dinodas rose and bowed, "Beg your pardon. But we were having a private conversation and interrupting is hardly-"
"Frodo Baggins I presume?" Bilbo said, looking down at the young hobbit. Frodo gaped for a moment before regaining his composure.
"Yes sir?" he asked. Bilbo smiled at him.
"You and I have business, I believe," he said.
"Sir?" Frodo dithered.
"Come along lad," Bilbo said kindly, "Let's leave these old codgers to their nonsense." Frodo rose and followed Bilbo out, amazed by the old hobbit. He heard grumbling behind him but he suddenly couldn't care less about his Brandybuck uncles. He and Bilbo walked down the dark hallways in silence for a minute or two before Frodo said quietly,
"Thank you, sir."
"For what?" Bilbo asked, genuinely puzzled. Frodo smiled into the darkness ahead of them.
"I was having a bad time in there. Thank you for the rescue," he said. Bilbo chuckled.
"Oh that," he murmured, "well they are tiresome old gits, aren't they?" Frodo was not a little astonished by this.
"What is this business, if I may ask?"
"Have you ever hear the Elven lays spoken aloud?" Bilbo asked.
"No sir," Frodo answered.
"Then that is our business. I hear that you had some curiosity about the fair folk and their tales." An unexpected joy bloomed in Frodo then and he looked up at Bilbo, smiling for the first time that day. Bilbo smiled back, "or was I mistaken?"
"No sir. I am very interested," Frodo assured him.
"Good lad!" Bilbo said and they two continued down the hall together. The rest of the visit they were inseparable, devouring Brandy Hall's entire collection of Elvish poetry, hobbit tales of the Outside- what few there were, written mostly by Tooks, and Bilbo's own There and Back Again tale. They stayed up an entire night as Bilbo told the story of his adventure by the light of a dying fire in the Great Hall. When Frodo slept later that day his dreams were all full of dwarves and wizards and dragons. At the end of the visit, as he bid Bilbo good bye and watched his carriage disappear, Frodo realized how much he cared for the old hobbit who told tales of the outside and defied convention and predictability. He dearly hoped his strange uncle from the West Farthing visited again soon.
Frodo opened his eyes and saw that the light had shifted, so that at least an hour had passed. He sat up slowly and rubbed his head.
"Lovely, this spot," came a soft voice at his side. Frodo turned, not at all surprised and saw Bilbo sitting beside him in the grass, his eyes fixed on the stream in front of them. Frodo felt his breath catch and his eyes pricked with tears. Bilbo blinked and looked down at him.
"Frodo?"
"Don't mind me," Frodo said quickly and sat up. "Oh," he said, noticing suddenly that his bags were gone.
"I had the hen taken back to Bag End. Doesn't do to let a perfectly good fowl spoil in this sun," Bilbo said with a slight reprimand in his voice.
"I was only going to rest for a moment," Frodo murmured apologetically, "Thank you Bilbo."
"You're welcome," Bilbo said, looking out across the creek. "And on the off chance you meant that hen to be cooked tonight I asked Mrs. Peabody to make a marinade for it. It should be soaking in the icebox by now."
"You really are too good," Frodo chuckled.
"I do what I can," Bilbo said sounding pleased, "Mind, I hope you'll save me some."
"Sir?"
"I'll be very late tonight," Bilbo said slowly, "I'm meeting cousin Ferumbras at the Ivy Bush. Poor old chap has to be off in the morning to Tookland, but he had promised a long night of song and tale for the village and I do not intend to miss it."
"That sounds wonderful," Frodo said, "I hope you have a good time."
"I hope you do too," Bilbo said quietly. Frodo paused a moment before smiling and looking away.
"I will," he said.
Sam gazed at the fading oranges of the twilight sky and shivered. He could see light from the windows up on the hill, candles flickering in the kitchen and smoke rising from the chimney. He stood in his garden, the sounds of his household behind him, as the girls cooked and fussed. The Gaffer had not come home yet, but he knew not to expect Sam back that evening. Even the girls had picked up on something different in their brother's mood. As if summoned at the thought of them, Sam heard the door to Number One open.
"Sammy?" Daisy's voice came from behind.
"Aye?" he asked turning. Daisy stepped out of the smial and closed the door behind her. She pressed a bag into his hands. Sam looked down at it in surprise and back up at his sister.
"A little cool this evening," she said, looking away.
"A little. We've the north wind bringing cool air off Lake Evendim. Gammer Twofoot reckons we'll have a few more days of it," Sam agreed, glancing down at the bag she had given him. "Er, what's this?" he asked.
"Just some clothes and things," she murmured, "You're going up the hill aren't you?" she added dropping her voice.
"Ah. Aye," Sam said, embarrassed that she had guessed and more embarrassed that she had packed a bag for him. Daisy nodded.
"I were wrong before," she said quietly, "I'm sorry. I ought not said what I did."
"Oh, Daisy," Sam began but Daisy had no mind to be interrupted.
"Mam loved him," she said, "and maybe she'd be afraid for you, as I am, but she loved him. So I can't see… I can't see her being angry at you for doing the same." Sam looked away uncomfortably. "You go on now," Daisy said softly, "I'll see the hole is closed up tonight."
"The… woodstove," Sam managed, "you have to shut the air valve-"
"Just a hair from closed to keep the coals. Aye, I know," Daisy said softly. Sam smiled at her and pulled her into an embrace. He felt Daisy's arms about his back and then she released him. "Thank you Daisy," he said and stepped away.
"Good night Samwise," she said and turned away going back to the door. Sam opened the gate and stepped into the lane, slinging Daisy's bag over his shoulder, walking briskly up the row road toward the hill and his appointment.
There was a soft knock on the door and Frodo felt his heart thump hard against his ribs for a moment until he took a deep breath and went to the kitchen door. He opened it and found Samwise standing on the stoop, the dusk air all around him and his face lit by the candles kept in sconces by the door. Sam smiled bashfully.
"Hullo," he said.
"Hullo," Frodo replied and stood back to let him in, "Come see, I've got a hen in the oven and potato soup- that's ready- and I've got a crumble. Last of the blackberries."
"That sounds good," Sam murmured gazing into the kitchen as he moved inside and closed the door behind him. Frodo's eyes lit on the bag slung over Sam's shoulder, and when Sam caught him looking his ear tips went scarlet. "I didn't mean to presume!" he said painfully and pulled the bag off, setting it down, "Daisy packed it for me and I…"
"Don't be silly," Frodo laughed, "You're not presuming at all." Sam bowed his head, but he was smiling now. "Daisy packed it for you did you say?" Sam looked up at that and nodded.
"That she did," he said. Frodo cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows, going back to the stove.
"Heavens, I wouldn't have guessed it from the talk we had a few days ago."
"You and our Daisy had a talk?" Sam asked, his ear tips pinking up again. Frodo nodded and stirred the stew.
"We came to a truce of sorts, but she left me with the impression that she…" he paused, "…disapproved."
"Well she's softening on it," Sam sighed and went to stand near the stove, curiously surveying dinner's progress.
"I'm glad to hear that," Frodo said quietly. With Sam's help Frodo soon had the hen out of the oven and dressed. The table was laid and before long they sat down together and ate.
The hen was tender and flavorful, having spent the afternoon soaking in a lemon, white wine, and oil marinade, seasoned with rosemary. Frodo had honed his cooking skills at Bilbo's elbow and could now reliably cook fowl and fish at a level that all but the pickiest hobbits would heartily approve. After he'd roasted the hen, he'd garnished it with mushrooms, lightly cooked in oil. The potato soup had been more of an experiment, Frodo having chosen it because he knew Sam liked potatoes, and had in fact grown these potatoes. He'd been following a recipe in one of Bilbo's mother's cookbooks and he was reasonably pleased with how it had come out. The soup was creamy, thickened with butter and cream and balanced with onion and black pepper. He was pleased when Sam sipped it and looked up with shining eyes.
"Good?" Frodo asked. Sam nodded.
"You've a dab hand at cooking," he said, "this is all very good."
"Thank you. I'm glad you enjoy it."
Any small amount of lingering tension drained away as they plodded along in comfortable conversation. Frodo could almost see Sam relaxing and took pleasure in it. The last thing he wanted was for Sam to feel anxious.
When Frodo had finished his meal he rose and began cleaning. Sam offered to help but Frodo waved him off. When he had packed everything away he returned to the kitchen to see that Sam had finished his wine. As Frodo struggled to find easy words to invite Sam into the parlor the other stood. He grinned suddenly and took a step forward, his hands landing in Frodo's hair, twining there. Frodo laughed.
"Can I take a liberty?" Sam asked him.
"I think you already are, but please do," Frodo murmured encouragingly. Sam's grin widened and he drew away, casting a gleeful look over his shoulder as he went into the hallway. Frodo belted out another laugh, this one slightly frustrated as he followed curiously. Sam darted into the parlor and went to the player piano, bending down to pull out Bilbo's case of paper reels. Frodo watched as Sam carefully removed one of the paper reels from its tube and then opened the case, sliding the roll into the spool box. Frodo put his hands in his pockets watching as Sam drew the free end of the spool out and threaded it into the instrument's take up reel. Sam must have watched Bilbo do it, for Frodo hadn't known that Sam knew how to work the confounded thing. When Sam was satisfied he drew back and replaced the wood lid, going to the side to wind it. As he did he glanced up and met Frodo's eyes, looking a little bashful as he did.
"This is the liberty?" Frodo asked him teasingly. Sam glanced down, chuckling softly.
"Hm," he offered. After a few moments he straightened and came back around the side, the soft plink of the music starting as he did. Frodo recognized the tune of A Merry Bee and had to stop himself from smiling, for Sam suddenly looked solemn and shy as he approached.
"I promised you a dance," he said quietly, "Would you dance with me?"
"Oh, yes. I would be honored," Frodo said bowing a little, then put his hand in Sam's and let Sam guide them into a close clasp.
"Ah," Sam smiled, "Do you like to lead?"
"You lead," Frodo murmured, liking the feeling of Sam's hand on his back, "You offered the dance after all." Sam wound their fingers together and drew him closer. Frodo lay his left arm over Sam's and curled his hand around Sam's upper arm, delighting in sway of their bodies. This was not what he had anticipated when he asked for the dance, but he had to admit even if dancing out of doors to a fiddle and flute might have been more fun, the intimacy and privacy of Bag End was much nicer.
"Do you remember, you taught me how to dance," Sam said quietly.
"Did I?" Frodo asked surprised. He couldn't recall it.
"You and young master Merry," he smiled, "and he taught me the slow dancing, like this." Frodo hummed and then gasped as Sam slid against him and stole a quick kiss. He laughed and glanced up at Sam, noting how his eyes gleamed in mirth.
"Did he teach you that too?" Frodo chuckled.
"Aye, well, told me about it like," Sam said, blushing a little.
"The scamp," Frodo murmured. He was beginning to realize that he had never danced like this. There had been slow dances on festival nights and they had been enjoyable to be sure. They had sparking moments of pleasure or anxiety, but this dance was very different from those, not least of all because he felt so at peace. Sam kissed him again and this time it was slow and he lifted his chin, inviting the kiss.
They danced through the roll until the soft notes died away and the keys stilled. Sam continued to hold him, his arms only moving slightly to wrap securely around his back. Frodo held still and waited. He was lulled now by the slow dance and the warm buzz drifting over his senses. Sam tilted his head and kissed along his neck, sending nervous flutters down into the pit of his stomach, even as a pleasant throbbing began to build between his legs. After a moment he sighed.
"Come, let's sit down," he said. Sam drew away, and Frodo noticed his breathing coming quickly. They sat near the fireplace on the low reading sofa. Frodo bent and struck a match, holding it to the wick of the oil lamp on the table as he turned the key and the flame flickered to life. He turned back and awkwardly took hold of Sam's shoulders and kissed him. Sam tensed slightly then relaxed, warming to the kiss. Frodo couldn't help but note, however, that Sam's hands were shaking.
"There now," Frodo soothed, drawing back and smoothing the fabric at Sam's shoulders. Sam laughed nervously, gazing down.
"Don't know why I'm all a patter," he breathed.
"It's alright," Frodo murmured softly, "it's just me." Sam smiled briefly and eased. Seeing the change Frodo pressed him back, "Lie back, dearest." Sam let out a chuff of air and did as he was bid, looking curiously on as Frodo curled over him. "That's nice, isn't it?" Frodo murmured. Sam made an affirmative hum and Frodo rewarded him by reaching down to open a button at his throat. Sam breath shifted and Frodo could see the excitement in his face.
There was something wonderfully heady about seducing Sam, he thought. Watching someone he loved grow excited and needy was fulfilling and he thought perhaps he understood some of what Sam had felt on the hill a week or so ago. He finished opening Sam's shirt and explored his skin, with strokes and kisses, twining his fingers in the soft light colored hair that ran from his throat down to his belly. Below him Sam squirmed and let out what was almost a giggle when Frodo tickled him, but there was heat to it as well, for Frodo could well feel the solid ridge sliding against his thigh now. He chuckled and bent, licking one of Sam's nipples. Sam hissed and stifled a cry.
Frodo teased him for long moments until Sam's squirming grew more urgent. Throughout the teasing Frodo had begun to rub back, his body moving up and down against the hot place between Sam's legs. But Sam was beginning to pant and pull at him, needing more to notch his arousal higher. Carefully Frodo eased away, even as Sam stared up at him, his eyes disappointed.
"Oh please," he murmured, "don't stop." Frodo kissed him and lay a hand against Sam's quivering form, stroking his soft skin.
"You're not even undressed," Frodo murmured in his ear, "Let me." He moved his hand down and slipped the buttons open on Sam's trousers. Sam obediently lifted his hips and let Frodo slid his pants off.
"Um, er. But," he stuttered, but fell silent when Frodo opened the ties of his small clothes.
"Hm?" Frodo murmured questioningly, but Sam's eyes had slipped shut in bliss. "Sam?" Frodo whispered. Sam opened his eyes and leaned up, kissing him as Frodo reached down into the thin garment and drew Sam's length out. "Good?" he asked quietly. Sam let out a gurgle and nodded, beyond speech. Frodo chuckled and moved down the sofa to be closer to what he held.
It was a handsome prick, he decided, with a nice thickness to it but not too large to manage. The head was flushed a deep red, peeking out from the foreskin, and the whole length was hot, just as Frodo had imagined it. Experimentally, he pulled back the foreskin, watching the rosy head emerge. It was such a pretty plum sort of color that Frodo found himself rubbing the tip lightly. Above Sam squirmed uncomfortably and left out an impatient wordless murmur.
"I'm sorry," Frodo murmured and began working the shaft, "It's so fetching. I couldn't help admiring it." Sam collapsed back in relief, groaning. With a final chuckle Frodo leaned down and carefully closed his lips around the head of the prick he held. Sam's body jolted under him in reaction. Frodo gazed up and saw Sam looking down at him, his eyes wide in surprise. Gingerly, Frodo lapped at the seam just below the head of his prick and watched Sam's expression melt into exquisite bliss.
"Glory," he squeaked. Feeling a surge of confidence Frodo took the shaft deeper into his mouth and moved his hand down to grip the base. He began a rhythm up and down, letting his tongue glide and swirl along the seam. He was gratified to find that Sam seemed to enjoy this as much as he did. It felt nice in his mouth even though Frodo was letting it push to the back of his throat. He kept a firm grip at the base, just in case Sam thrust carelessly and choked him. But so far Sam was holding himself still, other than the tensing of his muscles and the quivers of pleasure.
"Frodo," Sam panted, his voice rasping and desperate. Carefully Frodo drew his mouth back. The prick had hardened in his grasp, and the head was fully exposed now. He blinked at it, before looking up at Sam.
"Yes, dear?" he asked.
"You have to stop that or I'm going to… you know," Sam mumbled.
"Well, that's the point," Frodo said patiently.
"But," Sam winced, "I don't want to. Not here."
"Then where?" Frodo asked, truly puzzled. His mind was slightly hazy.
"Can't we go to your room?" Sam asked painfully.
"Of course we can," Frodo said instantly contrite and rose, collecting Sam's pants as he did. He felt shamed. He had after all been trying to make Sam as comfortable in all this as possible.
"It's only Mr. Bilbo will be back soon. And I wouldn't want…" Sam murmured flushing as he rose.
"Oh, that's what's worrying you," Frodo slipped an arm around him, "There was never any chance of that. Bilbo is staying late at the pub, and I very much suspect that he will be there until sunup at least."
"Oh," Sam said in a small voice as Frodo bent and picked up the oil lamp to take with them.
"I told you I wouldn't let anything interrupt us or distract us," he said quietly as they went out into the hall. Sam smiled and ducked his head.
"That you did," he said, "And I ought to know by now that I can trust your word."
"Mm. Just so," Frodo said as they entered his room. He closed the door behind them. Sam cast a glance at the door.
"The kitchen fire," he murmured.
"I already banked it," Frodo said laughing a little as he put the oil lamp down on his bedside table. Sam smiled.
"The left over hen?" he asked.
"In the cold cellar. Along with the other left overs," he said, placing the oil lamp on the bedside table. Sam chuckled.
"And… the shutters?" he asked.
"Bother the shutters, Samwise," Frodo said going to him and wrapping his arms around the other. Sam sighed happily.
"Then, are you going to make love to me?" he asked softly. Frodo kissed him briefly and nuzzled along his cheek.
"Yes if you'll stop nattering on about left overs and shutters," he said. Sam returned the kiss.
"How?" he asked, his voice dropping down to the quietest murmur. Frodo paused.
"What do you want?" he asked just as softly, all the tease gone from his voice.
"I don't know. I just want to be close to you. I want to be in your arms," Sam whispered, as if ashamed.
"That's easily arranged," Frodo said, trying to put the tenderness he felt into his voice. Sam fixed him with an adoring look as Frodo released him and they went to the bed. Sam shrugged off his open shirt and with only a brief hesitation pushed his small clothes down, before climbing into the bed. Frodo went about it slower, as he had more to take off and watched Sam nestle himself into the soft sheets and coverlet. He tugged the sheets up to cover his legs and lap, still a little shy, Frodo noted. Surprisingly, Frodo didn't feel shy himself. He usually had with his other partners, even after coupling he felt a little nervous about their gaze wandering over his bare body. But with Sam he felt little apprehension.
He slid out of his shirt and unbuttoned his breeks, and pushed them down over his hips. Sam's eyes were on him, and he took pleasure in that. He stepped around to the other side of the bed, bending to light a set of beeswax candles he kept on the table for reading. With those lit, and the oil lamp adding its own soft illumination, there was a pool of warm flickering light around the bed. Frodo glanced down, watching the candle light glow against his bare skin.
"You are a fair creature," Sam sighed. Frodo glanced up at him, smiling.
"Am I?" he laughed and wriggled out of his own small clothes. His penis caught on the fabric and bobbed lazily to his amusement.
"You've such smooth skin," Sam murmured, "and soft hair. I love touching your hair. And you've a nice round belly, too. I like how you've hair that trails down from your navel."
"You've got that too," Frodo said as he climbed into bed, "Go on, let me see." Obligingly Sam pulled the sheet down and Frodo touched his stomach, tracing his fingers through the slightly stiff light curls that drew together at the center of his stomach. Sam chuckled, ticklish.
"Aye, but yours is dark against your skin," Sam put in, "tis handsome. Mine all but disappears against me skin."
"I think it's lovely," Frodo murmured, kissing his shoulder. "You're all brown, like a chestnut. Especially now, being out in that summer sun." Sam snorted and slid down lower into the bed, nestling himself firmly against Frodo's side. Frodo bent over him, smiling down as Sam looked up and slid his fingers into the other's hair, brushing back his tumble of sandy curls. "Oh my darling," Frodo sighed, and curled himself over Sam, noting how it felt to lie bare against him. His heart was pounding suddenly and he glance up to see an answering look of shocked pleasure in Sam's eyes.
"You feel good," Sam murmured.
"Yes," Frodo gasped and shifted to lie more fully over him. He sighed and fixed Sam in his gaze before leaning down to kiss him. Sam bent forward eagerly and met him, wrapping his arms around Frodo's back as he did. They kissed for long moments, secure and warm. Frodo gently broke the kiss and drew back, even as Sam involuntarily tightened his grip to keep him from escaping. Frodo laughed, delighted when Sam gasped and loosened his grip, his ear tips reddening.
"Go on," Frodo encouraged.
"Yeah?" Sam chuckled. He drew back, regarding Frodo with open interest, his eyes roving down his body. To his surprise, Sam flipped them over and began exploring his skin. He watched as Sam caressed him and noted the intense concentration writ in his face. His hands moved across his chest and swept down to his stomach, pausing occasionally to seek out the shape of a muscle, the jut of a bone, or a soft layer of padding. It was as if Sam were making a study of him for one of his woodcarvings, Frodo thought and felt slightly self-conscious for the first time. Sam seemed to sense this and moved up to lay kisses along his neck.
A month ago, if someone had asked Frodo what sort of lover Sam might be he would have guessed that he was shy and quick, yet he was finding now that under the shyness was a careful lover, who while not exactly skilled, was enthusiastic and so unassuming that one could not help but fall to his charms.
As he was kissed, Frodo noticed Sam's hands drifting downward until a fist closed around his prick and began a slow firm rhythm up and down the shaft. Frodo let out a soft sighing moan as the lust rose to the back of his throat. Sam kissed him again, harder and urgently. Frodo let him and fell for a time into the mindless rhythm that Sam was driving through him. His blood was rousing and his thoughts slowed, giving way to the deep primal urges thrumming through him.
He wanted to push into that pressure and rub his cock harder against the obliging hand. More than that, his mind was filled with the need to thrust inside the warmth of Sam's young straining body. He gritted his teeth and tried to think through the haze of lust. No, Sam had wanted something else, hadn't he? And Frodo had been determined that this time was for Sam's comfort. Finally he squirmed out of Sam's grip, murmuring,
"Hold, dear." Behind him Sam was panting, and the bed shifted as Sam sat up, watching him. Frodo clambered over the bedcovers to the bedside table and rummaged through the top drawer until he found his little bottle of oil and withdrew it. Sam spotted this and his eyes rounded in surprise and if Frodo wasn't mistaken, anxiety. He returned to Sam's side and put the bottle in his hands.
"We don't have to," Frodo said quietly, "but I thought it might be nice this way. I can be on my back and hold you while you rock into me." Sam blinked slowly in the dim light, taking it in. His brow knit slightly and he glanced questioningly at Frodo.
"On your back?" he asked breathlessly. Frodo smiled, slightly embarrassed despite himself.
"Erm. If I can manage it," he said. Sam glanced down.
"And it will feel good to you…? Even all bent up like that?" he asked.
"Just shove a pillow under my ass," Frodo laughed, "and it will be fine." The tension in Sam's face broke and he snorted. He turned and taking Frodo by the shoulder gave him a quick searing kiss.
"Glory, but I want you," he said in a low voice.
"Then by all means," Frodo murmured back and felt his pulse quicken again. He leaned back among the sheets and tossed aside coverlet and took one of the pillows, passing it down, and lifted his hips to slid it under him. He felt once more the twinge of self-consciousness, lying on his back, exposed. His cock had flopped to the side, and he pulled it back to the center of his stomach, fidgeting with it. It had calmed somewhat during the interlude but still tingled, wanting attention. Sam gazed down at him, holding the little bottle. Slowly he unstopped it and poured a bit into the palm of his hand. He met Frodo's eyes, uncertain. Frodo lifted a hand, beckoning him.
"Come here," he murmured. Sam crawled forward and bent, leaning over him, as Frodo reached up and twined his fingers in Sam's locks, stroking his ears and cheeks. "Dear hobbit," he sighed. Sam closed his eyes for a moment, a smile on his lips. He reached down and spread the oil in his hand down the length of Frodo's prick, taking it firmly and gave a few pumps.
Frodo sighed and murmured in pleasure. He watched Sam's hand on him, happy and rousing once more. Sam's breathing had deepened too and his cock was bobbing stiffly between his legs. Frodo bit his lip, noting that the rosy head was shiny and damp. He desperately wanted that cock and began to wonder if Sam knew what it was he was supposed to be doing with that oil.
"Darling, I'm ready," Frodo spoke quietly but even he could heard the low tone of heat in his voice. Sam looked up, startled and closed his mouth. Without a word he poured more oil, dipping his finger into the little pool, then slid a finger against Frodo's pucker. His touch was gentle as he rubbed insistent circles.
Thank heavens, Frodo thought, elated at the sensation and that Sam seemed to know what he was doing. After a bit of rubbing and teasing he eased a finger in and Frodo sighed, feeling the welcome pressure. He pressed deeper and brushed the spot that Frodo had long ago discovered brought him bliss. He moaned and Sam froze, his finger withdrawing slightly. Frodo huffed in disappointment and rolled his hips, trying to get Sam to touch him there again. Sam seemed to catch on and leaned closer.
"Good?" he asked throatily. In reply Frodo reached down and took his prick in hand, stroking it, gazing up at Sam lustfully.
"Quite," he breathed and rolled his hips again, easing him deeper, back into his sweet spot. Sam worked him for long minutes, stimulating him enough so that Frodo slowed his own efforts, to prolong the experience. Gently Sam eased out and went back to the bottle. Frodo watched in anticipation as Sam poured the remaining oil out and carefully worked it into his own prick, pulling and stroking more than was perhaps necessary, as he gazed down with dark eyes. Frodo squirmed under that gaze, uncomfortably aroused.
Sam took a final deep breath and put the bottle safely on the bedside table, then crawled back into position, moving between Frodo's legs and lifted them up, bending his knees gently to gain better access. Frodo growled low and reached for him, drawing Sam over him and felt the burning heat of Sam's oiled cock slid against the back of his thigh.
"Don't you worry now," Sam murmured softly, and his hand went down, guiding his prong to press where it was most needed. Frodo collapsed back in relief as the thick head penetrated him, slowly filling and receding as Sam methodically worked it against the clasping muscles. Sam's eyes were closed but even so Frodo could tell he had been transported into high bliss. He unclenched his hands where they had been griping the bed sheets and reached up for Sam's arms, trying to pull him closer. Sam's eyes opened at the touch and he fixed his gaze on Frodo and let out a soft whimper.
"Mm, a bit more," Frodo breathed, "Come along dearest. There you are." He sighed as Sam slid deeper and began to rub him in ways that were making him shiver with desire, "Oh yes," he panted, "oh just like that." Sam's fingers dug into his sides but Frodo didn't feel the pain at all. He let out a soft cry of approval as Sam gingerly increased his pace and his prick found the same spot as before, pushing against it. They pumped against one another for long minutes, pausing every so often to gasp for air and rest shaking limbs, but the need was so strong that it could not be ignored for more than a few seconds.
Helplessly, Frodo reached down and tugged his cock, which was leaking now and flushed a deep red. The rhythm was driving him wild and Sam held him firmly and showed no willingness to slacken his pace as they neared the peak.
Sam stiffened, groaned and went still, his head whipping back and to the side. Frodo gasped, caught off guard by the moment. Desperately, he rocked into Sam and tightened his hold on his cock, tipping himself over the edge. He let out a soft cry and shuddered coming hard, warm seed spattering over his belly. Sam whimpered as he gasped for breath. Their eyes met, and they stared at one another in wonder.
The moment slipped by and Sam eased down, his arms shaking as he lowered himself. They lay still except for taking great gulps of air for several long moments. Slowly, and feeling as if he had drunk several glasses of wine, Frodo lifted himself up and gingerly eased Sam's soft prick out of him and turned himself around so that he could lie at Sam's side, throwing his arms around the other. Sam moaned weakly but didn't open his eyes. Frodo chuckled and kissed him, reaching into his beside drawer to retrieve a pocket handkerchief to dry himself.
"You'll stay the night?" he murmured. Sam opened his eyes and gazed at him blearily.
"Aye," he sighed and closed his eyes again. "I jest came so hard me knees won't hold me up. So aye."
"Oh good," Frodo laughed. Their breathing gradually slowed and before five minutes had gone by Frodo had fallen into a deep satisfied sleep.
Frodo awoke before dawn and felt Sam still warm in his arms, snoring softly. He smiled, far too at peace to move, and slipped back into dreams. A while later he awoke and saw that Sam was awake and trying to ease away.
"Oh bother it," Frodo grumbled, "it's barely daylight. And I know for a fact that you aren't working today."
"That don't mean I don't have things to do," Sam chuckled. Frodo snorted and threw an arm out, catching Sam's shoulder.
"Aw, sir," Sam protested.
"And I haven't finished with you, sir," Frodo said, drawing him back under the covers. Sam shook his head but let him, settling back in. Frodo lay over him, letting their bodies lock together and kissed him until Sam moaned. He had wanted to try sucking him last night but had been interrupted and he had no intention of letting Sam go until he had gained the experience.
As morning progressed Frodo found himself settling into the kitchen. His head was still in a fog even after elevensies. As he was deciding whether or not the tea had stepped enough, Frodo heard the sound of the front door opening and closing softly and the faint sound of footsteps. Slowly, Bilbo emerged from the hall and came into the kitchen, casting a brief glance and a nod to his nephew.
"Good morning, though it's nearly noon," Frodo said.
"Do you have any tea on?" Bilbo asked, sinking into a chair. Frodo smiled at him and rose, going to the counter.
"Old Took, if that suits you," he said.
"Fine," Bilbo agreed, "thank you lad," he said as he stole a scone from Frodo's plate.
"Where have you been?" Frodo asked him.
"Morning-afters are awkward enough without your old cousin bumbling about the smial," Bilbo grumbled.
"Oh don't be silly," Frodo chided him and set a cup of hot milky tea in front of Bilbo. Bilbo sighed and reached for the cup, drinking slowly, his eyes closed. Frodo watched him. "Are you hung over?" he asked.
"Of course not," Bilbo snapped.
"You look hung over," Frodo observed and sat down again.
"To be hung over one generally has to not be drunk. I am still drunk," he said.
"Cousin Ferumbras?" Frodo murmured, sipping his own tea.
"I don't want you hanging around those Tooks. They're mad," Bilbo growled, "and a terrible influence."
"You're the one who stayed out all night drinking with him," Frodo said wryly, "And a hobbit your age-"
"Bother my age," Bilbo grumbled, "You stay away from them."
"Yes sir," Frodo said soothingly.
It wasn't until after lunch that Frodo let himself wander outside to see if he could spot Sam around the row. He had promised himself that he wouldn't interrupt the boy this morning, that he would give Sam space to contemplate what had happened between them the night before. Truth be told, Frodo had wanted that same span of space for himself, though it was mostly so he could think back to it and smile to himself, without anyone calling him daft or dozy.
He hadn't wandered far when he spotted Sam ambling up the Hill toward him. His eyes met Frodo's shyly, but his smile was warm.
"Hullo, sir," he said.
"Hullo," Frodo said and sat down on the bower in the front flower garden. "Did you have a good lunch?" he asked.
"Yes, Daisy makes a good one when she's in a mood to," he said as he let himself in the gate and latched it shut behind him. "How was your's?"
"Good. I had to make tea for poor Bilbo. He's going to have a sore head from last night."
"Going to?" Sam asked as he sat in the bower next to Frodo.
"He says he's still drunk," Frodo confided, "I hate to think how much he and his Took cousin imbibed. You would think a hundred and eight year old hobbit would know his limits."
"Best not let him hear you talking like that," Sam chuckled.
"No. I'll get my ears boxed once he's feeling better," Frodo laughed, "I shouldn't make fun anyway. He stayed out all night partially as a favor to us."
"Did he?" Sam asked, his voice dropping to a low bashful tone, "Then he knows?"
"Of course he does," Frodo murmured, "Don't worry. He's not going to spread it round."
"I'm not worried," Sam said and Frodo noticed a faint pink blush come to his cheeks. Frodo watched Sam with lowered eyelids, contemplating his words.
"You know," he said, "you were rather good." Sam looked up.
"Oh," he said, pleased. Frodo leaned forward. Though Sam had said he had not tumbled the other boy, he had not made any comment on explorations that he may or may not have done on his own. The trick would be to inquire without embarrassing him.
"I'm serious. You went so smoothly that I'm not sore today at all. And I don't have to say it felt lovely," he said quietly and watched as Sam's smile widened, though he still looked a little bashful. "Have you tried it out? Maybe on your own?" Frodo asked him. Sam looked up and blinked looking momentarily confused, then shook his head. "No?" Frodo prodded him, "Well you certainly knew your way around. I can hardly believe you've no experience doing such." Sam shrugged, not embarrassed at all, to Frodo's surprise.
"I've helped the Cotton's when their sheep have problems in that area," he said. Frodo stared, feeling his libido drop away.
"I'm sorry?" he said.
"You have to get your finger up inside them and feel around to make sure it ain't anything more serious and then you have to get a tube in them to wash out the-"
"I see," Frodo said quickly.
"They use a sort of grease to ease them," Sam said and paused noticing for the first time Frodo's expression. He chuckled. "Don't worry, sir. You were much nicer." Frodo closed his eyes.
"Oh, I am glad."
"Why, you didn't kick and holler near as much as that old sheep did," Sam added. Frodo's eyes flew open and he stared at Sam, horrified. Sam laughed and scuttled backward as if afraid Frodo would strike him.
"Don't you have something to garden?" Frodo asked severly.
"No sir, I'm not working today," Sam said with barely suppressed glee.
"So you're loitering," Frodo said severely. Sam chuckled.
"I did ought to go to town. Da wants some things fetched. I come up to see if there was anything you were needing," he said.
"I don't need anything," Frodo said pointedly, "and I think you have best take yourself off." Sam smiled and stepped close again.
"May I kiss your hand before I go?" he asked. Frodo considered this a moment then nodded slightly, acquiescing, and held his hand out. Sam took it and kissed the top of his fingers, looking up into his eyes. Despite himself Frodo felt a jolt of fondness. Playfulness, he thought, playfulness from Sam. He wasn't sure he had seen this side of him.
Sam approached the kitchen door of Bag End hours later, fresh from his trip to town. He had come along the garden path and peeked in the window to see if any of the inhabitants were about. Bilbo was sitting in the kitchen, head in his hands. Quietly, Sam entered, placing his bags on the counter.
"Mr. Bilbo, are you alright?" he asked.
"Fine," Bilbo said, not moving.
"Begging your pardon," Sam said doubtfully but Bilbo sighed interrupting him.
"I am a bit hung over," he admitted looking up, "But I've already dosed myself. I'm just waiting now and trying to decide if I want a lie down." He eyed Sam's bags. "What's all this?" he asked.
"I was wondering if I could make tea," Sam said.
"You're not working today," Bilbo said mildly.
"No sir. Mr. Frodo says I'm loitering," Sam said, smiling a little.
"Does he?" Bilbo chuckled.
"I wanted to make tea as a bit of a treat," Sam said and opened his bags, "I've got the ingredients for scones with cherry topping." Bilbo winced.
"I'm not sure my stomach could take it now, but perhaps by the time you've made them I'll feel a bit better. It sounds wonderful otherwise. Thank you, Sam."
"You're welcome," Sam said, setting out his ingredients. Bilbo returned to holding his head in his hands. Sam watched him and decided to put some tea on.
"Samwise?"
"Sir?"
"You're happy in all this, aren't you?" Bilbo asked quietly. Sam stopped and stared.
"Yes, of course I am," he said. Bilbo blinked at him blearily.
"Good. I mean, I can see that you are, but still," he sighed, "I feel a bit guilty. Frodo and I have complicated your life and we'll go on complicating your life, maybe in ways that we don't even see yet."
"Sir," Sam sighed.
"Even if you're happy, I still want to say that I'm sorry. For all the bother."
"Don't be apologizing, beg your pardon," Sam murmured. He paused a moment, eyes cast down. "I could never regret knowing you two, no matter what bother comes my way cause of it." Sam met Bilbo's eyes and added, "My life is so much richer for knowing you and for knowing Mr. Frodo." Bilbo smiled at him, and their talk had turned to lighter topics.
Sam spent the next hour baking. Bilbo stayed with him a while until he decided to lie down after all and Sam was left alone in the kitchen as the smells of scones filled the smial. He was slightly surprised that Frodo had not come to investigate such smells; usually any sign of baking drew the younger Baggins from his work. But in a way Sam preferred this. He wanted a bit of quiet and peace and he had his heart set on making up a fancy tea tray for Frodo anyway. That ought to sooth any ruffled feathers over the sheep remark, he thought.
Nearly an hour later the scones had come out of the oven and cooled enough for Sam to pour over them the cherry topping he had made. He admired the little plate, stacked with two scones and put it on the tray which already had a tea pot filled with warm fragrant tea, and two small cups, turned over and sitting on crisp linen. He lifted the tray and went down the hall. He could hear Bilbo snoring from his room and smiled.
He went to Frodo's door and shifting up close managed to knock softly while maintaining his grip on the heavy tray.
"Yes?" Frodo called from within.
"Tea, sir," Sam said.
"Bring it in please," Frodo said. Sam bit his lip, trying not to smile. Usually Frodo would have come and opened the door for him. Carefully, he turned the knob and pushed the door open with his foot, only to find Frodo half way to the door, apparently repenting on making Sam open a door while balancing a tray. He froze seeing Sam and motioned to the small desk by the door. Sam set the tray down, while Frodo drew close to inspect the contents.
"Tea for two, I see," Frodo said wryly.
"Pardon my cheek," Sam said, folding his arms behind him.
"Did you bake these? I thought that was Bilbo in the kitchen," Frodo mused.
"Mr. Bilbo is lying down. He didn't feel well," Sam said. "And yes. I baked them." Frodo turned and fixed his with a calculating look. Sam held still and let him.
"Why don't we remove to the garden? I haven't enough clear surfaces to entertain in here."
"As you like, sir," Sam said and took the tray up once more. Frodo did a bad job at hiding a smile and went quickly out. Sam set after him, not sure exactly what kind of game it was they were playing, but liking it.
They emerged outside into a warm sunny afternoon full of bird song and the low drone of bees. Sam took the tray to the wisteria bower and set it down in the shady enclave. Frodo sat down and took the tea pot, pouring a cup for each of them.
"This is very nice," he said softly, "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Sam said. "You know I didn't mean to hurt your feelings earlier. I was only kidding you." Frodo looked up and smiled, chuckled a bit.
"I know that. And it's nice to see you not so careful with me," he said. "I only objected because I felt I must make some sort of protest." Frodo glanced over at him slyly, "And I suppose your Gaffer never told you not to compare lying with your lover to sticking your hand up a sheep." Sam blushed despite himself. Frodo laughed, "It was just your hand, wasn't it, Sam-dear?"
"What? Of course!" Sam sputtered and Frodo let out a laugh.
"I had to get a bit of my own back. Don't begrudge me," he said, "But enough. Let me kiss you and we'll call it a truce." Frodo set down his cup and leaned over, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam bent closer and let Frodo kiss him. They drew back and Sam leaned against the bench back, looking out into the garden once more.
"Truce," he murmured. They sipped tea and ate in silence for a few minutes until Frodo set aside his plate, and held his tea cup and saucer balanced in his lap.
"You know," he said quietly, "The things you said on the Hill, about this being… oh, starlight and glory and spring after winter, do you remember that?"
"I do," Sam said.
"You know I feel that way too," Frodo said softly. Sam nodded. "I didn't know that I could feel those things," his voice faltered for a moment, "and now that I have, it's all the more dear to me. As are you." He lowered his head, gazing into his tea. "I love you so very much." Sam took hold of the tea tray and moved it aside, sliding down the bench to Frodo's side, and put an arm around him. "I begin to feel that everything might be alright after all."
"Of course it is," Sam said softly.
"I never took that as a given, before," Frodo said and sighed, "but now, it feels like even if there is darkness in my life, I could find my way through it. With your help and strength yes, but even if you are not by my side, the memory of you and of our time would be enough to overcome whatever trials I face."
"And you say you've no pretty words," Sam smiled, "You are a bit gloomy me dear, all but that your words are sweet."
"Forgive me," Frodo murmured.
"There isn't anything to forgive," Sam assured him, "only try and remember that you can't live waiting for the next calamity to strike you. Worry has a way of eating up the happiest times. Even if there is truth in the worry you must be careful how you let it weigh on you."
"I am only trying to temper my joy with a bit of sense," Frodo laughed.
"And I'm only asking, what is the sense in tempering joy?" Sam asked him. Frodo went still and turned slightly to meet his eyes.
"Quite," he murmured. Sam glanced away.
"You may be right of course. You know more about the ways of life," he admitted.
"No," Frodo said urgently, "You're right. There is enough in this world that seeks to diminish joy. I should not take it from myself." Frodo leaned into his side and lifting his chin placed a kiss on Sam's cheek.
"Then," Sam said unsteadily, "We're agreed."
"Yes."
"Everything is going to be alright," Sam said. He felt Frodo nestle farther into his embrace and lay his head on Sam's shoulder. Sam gazed out into the garden and watched the wind stir his plants. His thoughts slowed and quieted, until after a time he was only aware of deep contentment and joy.
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