The Monster of Bywater
Chapter Seven - Time Apart
By Talking Hawk
Author's Note: Aww, you guys are such sweethearts. . . (Shirebound, watch out, you just may make me cry here. . .) Thank you for the sweet reviews, and the birthday wishes. You guys are so sweet! I'm so happy that all of you are enjoying this tale as much as I did writing it (sorry to steal your line, Shirebound). ~_^
The pair talked long into the afternoon, but it wasn't until the sun was nearing the horizon that the chatting boys realized exactly how much time had passed. Alarmed, Sam leaped to his feet. "I told me brother that I'd be back by suppertime!" he shouted, running panicked hands through his hair.
'What to do, what to do. . .!'
Frodo blinked up at him, then withdrew an item from behind his back. "Well, before you go, I think you should have this back." He placed the wooden bucket in the younger hobbit's hands, and a flicker of calm crossed the boy's youthful face.
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Frodo," Sam spoke, momentarily forgetting his situation a moment. "This one 'ere is the only one we have too. . ." He stared down into the empty basin, and only snapped out of his daze when Frodo said, "Um. . .supper. . .?"
"Oh, oh!!" Swiveling his head about, trying to decide if he should go straight home or to the pond to get some water, he decided that Bywater should best be visited first, as his Gaffer was going to be mad at him anyhow. Might as well have something to bring back if he was already going to be in trouble. . .!
Putting the butterfly net over his shoulder, the Gamgee held the bucket on his hip and ran as quick as his feet could carry him across the meadow, and into the shadows of the setting sun. Frodo opened his mouth to bid farewell, but before he was given the chance, the boy was already out of hearing distance. He stretched back out again, sighing forlornly to himself.
'Just great.' he thought hopelessly. 'I finally make a friend, and he lives off over. . .*that* way. . .' The boy had no idea what villages lied in that particular direction, but he felt confident in the assumption that his newfound companion was not from Hobbiton. He sighed to himself once more, casting his eyes sadly to the ground.
'Just my luck. . .'
* * *
Suppertime at the Gamgees carried on normally enough. . .with a few minor exceptions.
Everyone sat down at the dinner table, a modest white tablecloth draped over it. The food was already set out and ready to dish up, but as the bowls were being passed about around the table, a little waddling yellow creature made its way across the tabletop.
"Quack. . ."
As if instinctively, Arnold scuttled straight over to the Gaffer. He then waddled right into the center of his empty plate, nestled down into it, and began pruning himself. Hamfast's face turned red with anger, his fists set next to the sides of his plate, a fork and a knife in hand.
"*Marigold*, child. . ." he spoke as carefully as he could manage, his fury ready to boil over, "what did I tell you about ducks at the table. . .?"
Marigold, seated on the other end of the table next to her mother, pouted her bottom lip. "But Arnold's no normal duck!"
"Nor is this a normal *family*," Halfred whispered to Hamson, who gave him a quick elbow to the ribs. Halfred's lips contorted, doing his best to fight back an oncoming snicker.
"I'm sorry, Mari," Hamfast sighed, oblivious to Halfred's jeer, "but we can't have a duck at the dinner table. . ."
Halfred was much too quick with his own tongue. He intervened, "Yes, not unless we're going to ea--" Thankfully, Hamson's hand beat him to it, slapping over Halfred's mouth. Halfred blinked, and finished, "Ejsht jit. . ."
The Gaffer shook his head at his son, but said, "Hamson, Halfred, Mr. Bilbo's nephew is visiting up from Buckland, and he's around your age. Maybe you could go over tomorrow and introduce yerselves?"
May said it before anyone else had the chance to - "He's probably a snob."
"May!" her mother scolded, and the girl stuck out her bottom lip.
"It's *true*. . .!" she insisted, flashing her dark hazel eyes. "Mr. Bilbo's nice, but you know how rich he is. A nephew of his is *bound* to be spoiled. . ."
"Enough of this," the Gaffer said, eyes narrowing. He altered his gaze to his two oldest sons. "Now, he *may* be well-off, but that's no excuse for dismissing him so quickly . . . He's just like any one of us."
"I'm sorry, Father," Hamson objected weakly, his eyes lowered and his arms gripping the sides of his chair, "but May's right - he's a *Bucklander.* We're from Hobbiton. How could he ever be like us?"
Hamfast was just about to glare his infamous glare, but then arched his eyebrows in suspicious curiosity. Slowly, the Gamgee family turned their heads to one sole being. . .
Sam rocked back and forth in his chair, his eyes lowered to his empty plate. Humming a tune loudly to himself, he was blissfully unaware of the seven pairs of eyes that bore into him. Whatever song he was wordlessly singing to himself, his body moved in sync to it.
Somehow sensing the piercing gazes of his family members, the boy arched an eyebrow, then peeked up with one eye. Coming eye-to-eye with each one of them, he finally lifted both his eyes and blinked, a baffled expression upon his face.
". . .What?. . ."
* * *
Smiling merrily after having his fill, Sam plopped down onto his bed and bounced excitedly upon it. He wore his sleeping garments, in essence a large white long-sleeved shirt that went down to his calves. Eagerly awaiting his mother's goodnight kiss, the lad's beaming face lit up even the darkest corners of the room.
Unlike most boys his age, Sam did not room with his elder brothers. They - Hamson and Halfred - proved to be much too old, and - in some instances - too rough to be sharing the same living space with their kid brother. Therefore, although some thought it queer, he shared the same room with his sisters, of which they found to be a blessing in disguise.
The girls left vulnerable by the absence of the candles in the middle of the night, they had often become victim to a gnawing fear. There were the monsters beneath the beds, the disgruntled spirits in the closet, as well as the orcs in the hall. Though all were imaginary, they were very real in their hearts - until their guardian came.
Samwise quickly became titled as the Protector of the Realm (Of Girls), and was oftentimes their knight in shining armor. Whatever foe needed vanquishing, or fears dispelled, he was the man for the job. Many a sleepless night had been spent with Sam smoothing out the locks of one of his weepy sisters (his older ones included) as she recalled a frightening nightmare she had awoke from. Like a minstrel floods notes over his listeners, his hugs rained immediate comfort over them, allowing them to drift back into a peaceful sleep. The lad's stout heart and sweet demeanor made him the perfect candidate for the position.
. . .Who cares that two-thirds of the members of the Realm were taller than he was?
A graceful form took a seat at the foot of Sam's small bed. She folded her arms in her lap, smiling fondly at the boy. She was of the kind that "smelt pretty," as Samwise had so eloquently put it earlier that same day.
"Sam-darling," she whispered, her voice sounding as though the birds sung their songs merely to please her, "you seem so happy lately. . ." She placed a hand down on the covers, and leaned forward a bit as though taking part in a secret she did not want anyone else to hear about. "Did you make a new friend?"
Sam did his best to look stern (when, in actuality, he was beaming on the inside), and crossed his arms matter-of-factly over his chest. "Well, I *did* meet someone.but it wouldn't be proper to call him my friend *yet*." A sparkle filled his hazel eyes, and his mother could not help but chuckle.
"Oh, you silly goose!" she teased playfully, poking at his knee tenderly. "Why isn't it proper for you to call him your friend yet?" She looked deep into the boy's eyes, as though her world was stopped momentarily, and focused entirely upon him. Sam smiled to himself, placing his chin in his hands. He loved it when his mother did this; it always made him feel so special and important.
"Because," Sam said, "I have to *ask* him first. . . . I can't just go around calling him my friend when he doesn't even know about it!" Mrs. Gamgee smiled her lovely smile - the one that probably won the Gaffer's heart in the first place - and shook her head.
"Oh, I doubt that. But, do as you wish. . ." She planted a tender kiss upon her son's forehead. "Sleep well, dearest."
"You too, Mum. . ." His eyes conveying all the happiness that he felt within his soul, he allowed for his mother to tuck his blanket up around his chin. Whispering as his mother did, he said, "I love you, Mum. . ."
The woman giggled a bit, and gave her son another kiss - this time on the cheek. "I love you too, dear. G'night."
"G'night."
And with that, the boy slipped into a deep sleep, filled with pleasant dreams of all things wonderful in life - Elves, gardening, and his new playmate.
Chapter Seven - Time Apart
By Talking Hawk
Author's Note: Aww, you guys are such sweethearts. . . (Shirebound, watch out, you just may make me cry here. . .) Thank you for the sweet reviews, and the birthday wishes. You guys are so sweet! I'm so happy that all of you are enjoying this tale as much as I did writing it (sorry to steal your line, Shirebound). ~_^
The pair talked long into the afternoon, but it wasn't until the sun was nearing the horizon that the chatting boys realized exactly how much time had passed. Alarmed, Sam leaped to his feet. "I told me brother that I'd be back by suppertime!" he shouted, running panicked hands through his hair.
'What to do, what to do. . .!'
Frodo blinked up at him, then withdrew an item from behind his back. "Well, before you go, I think you should have this back." He placed the wooden bucket in the younger hobbit's hands, and a flicker of calm crossed the boy's youthful face.
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Frodo," Sam spoke, momentarily forgetting his situation a moment. "This one 'ere is the only one we have too. . ." He stared down into the empty basin, and only snapped out of his daze when Frodo said, "Um. . .supper. . .?"
"Oh, oh!!" Swiveling his head about, trying to decide if he should go straight home or to the pond to get some water, he decided that Bywater should best be visited first, as his Gaffer was going to be mad at him anyhow. Might as well have something to bring back if he was already going to be in trouble. . .!
Putting the butterfly net over his shoulder, the Gamgee held the bucket on his hip and ran as quick as his feet could carry him across the meadow, and into the shadows of the setting sun. Frodo opened his mouth to bid farewell, but before he was given the chance, the boy was already out of hearing distance. He stretched back out again, sighing forlornly to himself.
'Just great.' he thought hopelessly. 'I finally make a friend, and he lives off over. . .*that* way. . .' The boy had no idea what villages lied in that particular direction, but he felt confident in the assumption that his newfound companion was not from Hobbiton. He sighed to himself once more, casting his eyes sadly to the ground.
'Just my luck. . .'
* * *
Suppertime at the Gamgees carried on normally enough. . .with a few minor exceptions.
Everyone sat down at the dinner table, a modest white tablecloth draped over it. The food was already set out and ready to dish up, but as the bowls were being passed about around the table, a little waddling yellow creature made its way across the tabletop.
"Quack. . ."
As if instinctively, Arnold scuttled straight over to the Gaffer. He then waddled right into the center of his empty plate, nestled down into it, and began pruning himself. Hamfast's face turned red with anger, his fists set next to the sides of his plate, a fork and a knife in hand.
"*Marigold*, child. . ." he spoke as carefully as he could manage, his fury ready to boil over, "what did I tell you about ducks at the table. . .?"
Marigold, seated on the other end of the table next to her mother, pouted her bottom lip. "But Arnold's no normal duck!"
"Nor is this a normal *family*," Halfred whispered to Hamson, who gave him a quick elbow to the ribs. Halfred's lips contorted, doing his best to fight back an oncoming snicker.
"I'm sorry, Mari," Hamfast sighed, oblivious to Halfred's jeer, "but we can't have a duck at the dinner table. . ."
Halfred was much too quick with his own tongue. He intervened, "Yes, not unless we're going to ea--" Thankfully, Hamson's hand beat him to it, slapping over Halfred's mouth. Halfred blinked, and finished, "Ejsht jit. . ."
The Gaffer shook his head at his son, but said, "Hamson, Halfred, Mr. Bilbo's nephew is visiting up from Buckland, and he's around your age. Maybe you could go over tomorrow and introduce yerselves?"
May said it before anyone else had the chance to - "He's probably a snob."
"May!" her mother scolded, and the girl stuck out her bottom lip.
"It's *true*. . .!" she insisted, flashing her dark hazel eyes. "Mr. Bilbo's nice, but you know how rich he is. A nephew of his is *bound* to be spoiled. . ."
"Enough of this," the Gaffer said, eyes narrowing. He altered his gaze to his two oldest sons. "Now, he *may* be well-off, but that's no excuse for dismissing him so quickly . . . He's just like any one of us."
"I'm sorry, Father," Hamson objected weakly, his eyes lowered and his arms gripping the sides of his chair, "but May's right - he's a *Bucklander.* We're from Hobbiton. How could he ever be like us?"
Hamfast was just about to glare his infamous glare, but then arched his eyebrows in suspicious curiosity. Slowly, the Gamgee family turned their heads to one sole being. . .
Sam rocked back and forth in his chair, his eyes lowered to his empty plate. Humming a tune loudly to himself, he was blissfully unaware of the seven pairs of eyes that bore into him. Whatever song he was wordlessly singing to himself, his body moved in sync to it.
Somehow sensing the piercing gazes of his family members, the boy arched an eyebrow, then peeked up with one eye. Coming eye-to-eye with each one of them, he finally lifted both his eyes and blinked, a baffled expression upon his face.
". . .What?. . ."
* * *
Smiling merrily after having his fill, Sam plopped down onto his bed and bounced excitedly upon it. He wore his sleeping garments, in essence a large white long-sleeved shirt that went down to his calves. Eagerly awaiting his mother's goodnight kiss, the lad's beaming face lit up even the darkest corners of the room.
Unlike most boys his age, Sam did not room with his elder brothers. They - Hamson and Halfred - proved to be much too old, and - in some instances - too rough to be sharing the same living space with their kid brother. Therefore, although some thought it queer, he shared the same room with his sisters, of which they found to be a blessing in disguise.
The girls left vulnerable by the absence of the candles in the middle of the night, they had often become victim to a gnawing fear. There were the monsters beneath the beds, the disgruntled spirits in the closet, as well as the orcs in the hall. Though all were imaginary, they were very real in their hearts - until their guardian came.
Samwise quickly became titled as the Protector of the Realm (Of Girls), and was oftentimes their knight in shining armor. Whatever foe needed vanquishing, or fears dispelled, he was the man for the job. Many a sleepless night had been spent with Sam smoothing out the locks of one of his weepy sisters (his older ones included) as she recalled a frightening nightmare she had awoke from. Like a minstrel floods notes over his listeners, his hugs rained immediate comfort over them, allowing them to drift back into a peaceful sleep. The lad's stout heart and sweet demeanor made him the perfect candidate for the position.
. . .Who cares that two-thirds of the members of the Realm were taller than he was?
A graceful form took a seat at the foot of Sam's small bed. She folded her arms in her lap, smiling fondly at the boy. She was of the kind that "smelt pretty," as Samwise had so eloquently put it earlier that same day.
"Sam-darling," she whispered, her voice sounding as though the birds sung their songs merely to please her, "you seem so happy lately. . ." She placed a hand down on the covers, and leaned forward a bit as though taking part in a secret she did not want anyone else to hear about. "Did you make a new friend?"
Sam did his best to look stern (when, in actuality, he was beaming on the inside), and crossed his arms matter-of-factly over his chest. "Well, I *did* meet someone.but it wouldn't be proper to call him my friend *yet*." A sparkle filled his hazel eyes, and his mother could not help but chuckle.
"Oh, you silly goose!" she teased playfully, poking at his knee tenderly. "Why isn't it proper for you to call him your friend yet?" She looked deep into the boy's eyes, as though her world was stopped momentarily, and focused entirely upon him. Sam smiled to himself, placing his chin in his hands. He loved it when his mother did this; it always made him feel so special and important.
"Because," Sam said, "I have to *ask* him first. . . . I can't just go around calling him my friend when he doesn't even know about it!" Mrs. Gamgee smiled her lovely smile - the one that probably won the Gaffer's heart in the first place - and shook her head.
"Oh, I doubt that. But, do as you wish. . ." She planted a tender kiss upon her son's forehead. "Sleep well, dearest."
"You too, Mum. . ." His eyes conveying all the happiness that he felt within his soul, he allowed for his mother to tuck his blanket up around his chin. Whispering as his mother did, he said, "I love you, Mum. . ."
The woman giggled a bit, and gave her son another kiss - this time on the cheek. "I love you too, dear. G'night."
"G'night."
And with that, the boy slipped into a deep sleep, filled with pleasant dreams of all things wonderful in life - Elves, gardening, and his new playmate.