Author Notes: Okay, I already had this part written, so don't think I can invent and update this quickly! Thank you, those of you who reviewed! Paper Crane, the quote marks aren't messed up, my Word program is on French Standard grammar settings g I've been writing a bunch of papers for my French class, and that's what French quote marks look like. I can understand where it's confusing. Um, okay. The description of Samwise is all mine, and I've always held with the opinion that Sam was slender. The child came from a poor family and worked hard all his young life. I love Sean Astin as Sam, I think he rules – but this does not change my opinion. So, you're forewarned. cough Onward and upward, then. J
Frodo had gradually learned the ways of the place. He avoided the village as much as possible, but Bilbo still sent him to run errands now and then. When he came to the marketplace, he would quickly and quietly get whatever it was Bilbo needed with as few words as necessary. The pitying glances people gave him did not, as he had hoped, stop altogether. They did not stop at all, nor the murmurs that would start up when he turned his back. Frodo ignored them as best he could, but they hurt him, because they reminded him constantly of what now was.
He took to wandering – alone of course – in the surrounding countryside. One never has to go far from anywhere in the Shire to get to the countryside, and so when Frodo was nudged out the door every morning, he would walk through woods and fields and meadows and hills. He would wander, and think, and more often than not, he cried. Sometimes in his wanderings, he came upon other hobbit lads and lasses, who would gaze at him disinterestedly for a moment before moving on. They did not know who he was or what had happened to him, nor did they care. For this, Frodo was intensely grateful. At least *they* leave me alone.
At the end of the second week, he found the meadow. He had awoken that morning – as he now woke every morning – with his cheeks wet, his pillow soaked with tears, and a deep ache in his heart. Without even waiting for Bilbo to force him, he got up, got dressed, and left, running between trees and over hilltops. And then he saw it – the meadow. It was not very far from Bag End, but it was very, very quiet. A lonely place, Frodo thought to himself. Good. I want to be alone. So he had explored it for a while, and fully assured himself that no one else knew of it. The only sounds were the wind in the long grass and a few birds. He surveyed his new domain for a while. Yes, a lonely place. A quiet place. My place, he thought. I will come here again.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
And so he did. Every day, he came, when Bilbo did not need something done. He would rise early, throw some food into a daypack, and set out. The gardener, Hamfast, was always already up when he headed off on these excursions, and they exchanged greetings. One morning, towards the end of the third week, he presented Frodo with a basket, covered with a cloth. The basket was warm, and whatever it contained smelled marvelous.
« Thank you, Master Hamfast, » said Frodo, surprised. « What is it ? »
« Muffins, sir. The missus made them this morning, and sent some up with me to give to thee. Thinks you need nourishing, sir, and I must say, I do agree with her » he answered, eyeing Frodo's thin form. « Though our Samwise eats like a small horse, an' he's uncommon slender, too. So p'raps you don't need nourishing, you only look it, » said Hamfast with a wry smile.
Frodo smiled back, the first time he had smiled since the accident three weeks before.
« Well, thank you. And thank your lovely wife for me. »
« That I'll do, sir. She'll be pleased. »
« I hope so. Good day to you, Master Hamfast. »
« Good day, Master Frodo. »
He walked on, with his basket of muffins, musing to himself. Thinks I need nourishing, does she ? Ah, well, she's probably right. Everyone's always said I'm too thin. Still, it's very kind of her to think of me. Frodo had not met Bell Gamgee, didn't know her but he had a very distinct feeling that he would like her when and if he did meet her. Fancy that, making muffins for someone she's never met. And they're good muffins, too, he thought with approval. It's the sort of thing Mother would do, making muffins… He stopped dead in his tracks. *Mother*. His large blue eyes filled with tears at the thought of her, and suddenly he felt her loss so clearly he cried out in pain. « Mother ! »
He dropped the basket and muffins went rolling everywhere, but he paid no heed. He ran the short distance to the meadow and threw himself to the ground in the center of it. oh, mother, mother, mother… he sobbed. So weeping, he did not notice the small child who stood nearby, watching him anxiously, before walking off in the direction in which Frodo had come. Carefully, he gathered up the muffins, dusted them off, and replaced them in the basket. He left the basket on a large, flat stone, near to where Frodo had dropped it, and silently returned to Frodo's side, where he lay sleeping, exhausted with tears. Gently, so gently Frodo could hardly feel it, the little boy stroked his dark hair. He sighed in his sleep, and relaxed. The child grew bolder, pressing his lips lightly against Frodo's pale brow. Frodo had stirred then, and the boy quickly got up and disappeared into the safety of the trees.
Frodo found the basket there, hours later, when he woke. He was slightly unnerved. It was not the first time he had found things there. There had been a blue ribbon, once, another time some green glass beads, and a single yellow rose. There had even been some cherries in a pretty little bowl. Frodo had taken these presents curiously, and brought them with him in his pack whenever he came (except for the cherries, which he had eaten). He would take them out and look at them, and wonder who left them there. Now he was wondering again.I hope they didn't come here, he thought suddenly. I don't want them in the meadow. It's my place now.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
The next morning, he went again to the meadow, making sure to thank Hamfast for his wife's muffins.
« Eh, now, that's grand, » said the gardener, grinning. « She'll be glad you liked 'em. »
« Oh, yes, I loved them, » Frodo said earnestly.
Hamfast chuckled softly. « Then tha'll do best to prepare for an onslaught of 'em. Once she's heard you love her cooking, you'll get no end of it. »
Frodo smiled. « I think I'd like that, Master Hamfast. Be sure to tell her so. »
« That'll I'll do, lad, that I'll do. Take care o' thyself now, » he warned.
« Yes, sir, I will. » Frodo promised.
I wonder about his accent… Sometimes it just seems a plain rustic, but other times… I can't place it. The way he called me 'thyself', for instance. It's not a Tuckborough accent. Certainly not a Buckland. I'll have to ask Bilbo where they come from… Frodo's train of thought was broken off suddenly when, upon arriving at the meadow, a movement caught his eye. What the... ? He looked harder.
What he saw appeared to be a small Elf. He was very slender, and wore black breeches, and a white tunic tied with a black sash. His hair was golden yellow, streaked with lighter blond, and the locks curled only very slightly at the ends. His features, from what Frodo could make out from his profile, were finely drawn. He moved lightly, gracefully through the field, and Frodo stood watching him for a few moments, till, out of sheer curiosity, he called out, « Hey ! »
The Elf whirled round, surprised, seeming to have thought he was alone. Frodo's glance flicked over the face a moment – a young face, with soft black brows and long black lashes, surrounding eyes of the deepest green he had ever seen. He stood, stunned by them, for several moments, and then, before he could blink, the Elf-child was gone. « Wait ! » he cried suddenly. Where did he go ? he was just there, Frodo thought confusedly. He looked all over the meadow, and in the woods surrounding, but didn't find him. Had he looked up, rather than around, he might have spotted the slender form wrapped around a tree branch, and a pair of large green eyes watching him. The child smiled to himself, and waited for Frodo to stop searching before climbing soundlessly from the tree and slipping into the shadows again.
Frodo, for his part, was confused and intrigued. Where did he get to ? he wondered. Wait till I tell Bilbo I saw an Elf ! he'll be excited, I'm sure… I hope he won't want to come here with me – in the hopes of seeing him again. I don't want Bilbo to know this place. My place. It's too ... private. Though I don't think I mind sharing it with an Elf. I wonder if he's the one who picked up the muffins ?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
« Cousin, you won't believe it ! » Frodo said breathlessly, as he burst into the living room.
« Good heavens, what is it, my boy ? You're all in a fluster. » said Bilbo, privately relieved to see his young cousin in a mood other than sullen, tearful, or withdrawn.
« I saw – an Elf ! » said Frodo triumphantly, his blue eyes shining.
« What ? An Elf ? Here in the Shire ? Are you sure ? » Bilbo asked.
« Yes ! Yes, I'm sure ! What else could it have been ? » Frodo cried.
« Well, what did it look like ? » queried his cousin.
« Like an Elf » Frodo said, looking as though he thought it should be obvious.
Bilbo laughed. « No, my dear cousin, I meant 'describe him to me' »
« Oh… Well… » said Frodo. « He was small – child-sized really, and very, very slender, and he wore black leggings and a white tunic with a black sash, and his hair was gold, but his brows and lashes were black and he had the greenest eyes I've ever seen, cousin – you really should have seen them yourself – they were like – like – oh, I don't know, but very, very green, and he had a beautiful face, really beautiful, far too beautiful to be a hobbit – which is why I thought he was an Elf – and he looked very young, so maybe he was an Elf-child, and not an Elf and he… » Frodo trailed off. « Why are you laughing, cousin ? » he asked, puzzled.
« Did you see his feet ? » asked Bilbo.
« No, they were hidden by the grass. Anyway, I only saw him for a moment. Why do you ask ? »
« It's as I suspected. My dear Frodo, you didn't see an Elf-child. »
Frodo's face fell. « Well, then, what did I see ? An apparition, I suppose ? » He was getting tetchy, but then he thought he'd seen an Elf. And he had so wanted it to be an Elf, too. But now cousin Bilbo was spoiling it all.
Bilbo chuckled. « No, cousin, not an apparition, either. You have just described to me the living image of my gardener's youngest son, right down to the clothes he's wearing. Trust me when I tell you, his little feet are as furry as yours.»
« But – but… that's not possible ! He was far too graceful to be a hobbit. And beautiful, too, » Frodo countered.
« Yes, he is graceful, isn't he ? Like a cat. Or a dancer. As for his beauty - the Fallohide strain runs pure in his blood, and is testified to by his appearance. That boy was the toast of the Shire when he was born, what with his sunny curls and impossibly green eyes. Little Samwise is still a favorite of all the women-folk – and many of the men-folk, too. They kiss him and coddle him and exclaim over his looks no end. He's remarkably unspoiled for a boy who only has to smile to get what he wants. » Bilbo said this last part almost to himself, with a wondering expression. « Well, young cousin. Does that explain your Elf ? »
« Yes, it does » said Frodo disappointedly. « And I wish it hadn't. I wanted him to be an Elf. »
« I am sorry, Frodo, to have spoiled your surprise, but you would have found out sooner or later, anyway » said Bilbo.
« Well, if he's the gardener's youngest, how come I haven't met him in the three weeks I've been here ? » Frodo asked suddenly.
« Oh, Sam wanders off on his own a lot. He's a solitary child. Sweet-natured, but very shy. Likes his loneliness » Bilbo answered.
Like me, Frodo thought, surprised. Well, at least I'll get the chance to see him again.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
A/N: You like? I'll do more, if you want. Please, please, please review! That's what that button at the bottom of the screen is for. J