1.1 Sam's Tale

Reviews coveted and appreciated!

"I asks, yes. And if that isn't nice enough, I begs!"

Author: Nilramiel@aol.com, aka RosieCotton

Rating: G, PG, R

Genre: General/Romance

Setting: The Shire, July 1420

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1.2 Chapter 27: Garden

Rating: G

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Even though the morning was young, he could feel heat pressing through his shirt and against his back, starting fine beads of sweat along his spine. He looked up over his shoulder at the sun, hovering between 9 and 10 o'clock in the East. It was going to be a hot day.

Good.

Sam bent back to his work. Hot days were good, as long as water was plenty, and it was this summer. They had been having wonderful warm rains, mostly in the late afternoons, not enough water to flood the gardens, but enough to keep the flowers glowing and the vegetables fat.

Sam marveled again at the celebration that the entire earth seemed to be going through this year. Each week the hobbits wondered if the almost perfect weather and abundance of growth would taper off, but each week was as lovely as the one before.

"I always said growing things have more sense than some people," he muttered, smiling to himself, as there was no one around to hear.

He had been busy at the weeding for over two hours already, and it had been a good morning's work, though not without interruption. The Bag End gardens were large and vigorous, and Sam knew that they were the best in Hobbiton, if not the entire Shire. He was working the tomato patch now, one of his favorite plants. He loved to watch the plump tomatoes bud and swell, and to watch the color creep across the surface until they were red as blood and bursting with flavor. They were one of Sam's favorite foods, and Frodo's, too, so the gardener took extra care with them.

Sam reached between the thick stalks, deftly removing slender unwanted shoots and placing them in the small barrow at hand. He had been weeding almost since he could walk, and it was mindless work for him, though he did not find it tedious. Even after so many years, Sam found pleasure in removing the encroaching weeds.

"There, you can breathe easier now," he said softly to the tomato plants. "Much better, eh? More soil and water and light and air for each of you without those interlopers." Smiling, he took a roll of thin twine from his pocket and bit off some short lengths. These he used to secure the vines to the trellis in a few loose places. Satisfied, he sat back and dusted the earth from his hands. Pulling a handkerchief from his breast pocket, he mopped the sweat from his face.

Yes, it was going to be hot today. It already was.

"Sam?"

Frodo's voice. Coming from the open window of the larger parlor. Sam stood up and went to the window, which was wide open to admit the summer breeze. He leaned upon the sill, careful not to drop dirt or leaves into the hole.

"Yes, Mr. Frodo. You need me?"

Frodo smiled at him. "I'm sorry Sam, I know you are busy. But I am having the hardest time on this bit."

Frodo was sitting at his favorite table, books and papers spread before him, feet tucked underneath the chair, and a mug of tea within reach. He was leaning on his left elbow, and he twisted the curls nearest his shoulder round the fingers of his left hand, a habit he had picked up unconsciously. He often twisted his hair, or the chain around his neck, when he was concentrating on something.

He was working on the red book. He was always writing, or reading, nowadays. There was an urgency about him, as if he felt the need to get everything written down before memory failed him, or to satisfy some hidden deadline that only he could see.

"I am writing about our journey in the boats, after Lothlorien but before we left the company," Frodo said thoughtfully, "and no matter how I figure it, I keep coming up with the wrong count. How many days were we on the Anduin, Sam? Nine? Or eleven? Do you remember?"

"Well, Mr. Frodo, that's not too difficult. Let me think." Sam put his elbows on the sill and propped his chin into them. He furrowed his brows a moment before he spoke. "We left Lorien on February the 16th. I know that for sure…"

"February the 16th?" Frodo interrupted him, flipping back a couple of pages in the book. "I thought it was the 14th. Are you certain, Sam?"

"Aye. Very sure." Sam nodded. "The fourteenth was the day we looked into the Lady's mirror, sir, if you remember. And it was a month exactly that we stayed in the Golden Wood. We came there on January 15th, then pushed off on February 16th, I'm right sure of it."

"Ah, well, that would solve it – I was two days off in my reckoning and you have corrected me two days." Frodo distangled his left hand from his hair and used a piece of erasing gum to rub out a few lines on the page. "And we arrived at Parth Galen on the 25th, right? Putting us nine days on the river?"

"Aye. That's right. Nine days too many, if you want my opinion," Sam added half to himself.

Frodo blew softly on the page then looked up, taking his pen again in his hand. "You have an amazing memory Sam, for dates and details and such."

Sam brushed some imaginary specks of dirt from the windowsill, "Thankee, sir. Though I s'pose memory can be as much curse as blessin' from time to time."

"Yes." Frodo said seriously, "perhaps so. But more the blessing, in my view." He smiled broadly at the solid silhouette blocking his parlor window. "Thank you, Sam. I am sorry I keep interrupting you at your work. This is what? The third time this morning?"

Sam grinned back at his master and pushed his hair back from his forehead. "Aw, Frodo, it's no bother, really. I like helping you, and it gives me a bit of a breather from time to time. But I best be getting back to the garden."

"Alright Sam."

Frodo bent back to his writing, and Sam watched him for a moment, affection tugging at the corners of his mouth. Then he gave one more brush to the immaculate windowsill, and sticking his hands in his pockets, went whistling back to the garden. There were plenty more weeds to pull, around the carrots and the taters, especially.

~TBC~

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Acknowledgements: The characters, setting, and much of the dialog belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, and I give full credit to him. This story focuses on the relationship of Samwise Gamgee and Rose Cotton, and it is how I imagine the events following the Hobbits' return to the Shire following the War of the Ring and King Aragorn's coronation and marriage. If you have read the book, The Return of the King, you will find the events familiar. I have tried to "fill in the gaps," regarding Sam's courtship to Rose Cotton. Sam is my favorite character in Tolkien's work, and this is written with the deepest respect for both Tolkien and the noble Samwise.