Sam's Tale

Author: Nilramiel@aol.com, aka RosieCotton

Acknowledgements/Disclaimers: See chapter 1

Genre: General/Romance

Setting: The Shire, September 1420

Author's note: I apologize for the long delay! Now that school is out for the summer, I hope to update with more consistency. ^_^

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Chapter 30: Birthday

Rating: PG

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Summer faded into autumn, and the time of Frodo's fifty-second birthday drew near. Sam and Rosie kept expecting Frodo to begin preparations, but when the fifteenth of September came and went, Sam decided to broach the subject.

He found Frodo in the study, writing by candlelight, as the sun had already fallen below the western horizon. The light flickered softly against the older hobbit's features, and Sam smiled. At nearly fifty-two, Frodo looked both younger and older than his true age. Younger, in that at a glance he resembled a hobbit closer to thirty-five or forty summers. Sam knew that this was in part due to the influence of the Ring. Gandalf had told them that Frodo would regather his age after only a few years, just as Bilbo had, but still no hint of gray touched his dark curls. At the same time, Frodo looked older. His face was thin, drawn about the cheekbones; fine lines of grief and sorrow were etched around his deep blue eyes, and behind those fathomless eyes was a shadow – a shadow that seemed sometimes to grow, rather than diminish, with the passing days.

Frodo sensed Sam's presence and looked up, smiling. "Hullo, Sam." He said, laying down his pen and patting the seat next to him. "Come and talk with me. You have something on your mind, I can tell."

"That I do, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, coming over and seating himself. A glance showed him that Frodo was working on maps, something that Sam had no head for. Merry had helped Frodo a great deal with the map portion of the Red Book, being good with maps himself, and in fact had been over the evening before. Sam now wished he had brought up the subject of Frodo's birthday yesterday, with Merry to back him.

"Well?" asked Frodo, "Out with it, Sam. Is it something to do with Rosie and the baby?"

"Oh, no, sir," Sam said quickly. "All's well with them both, thankee. It's you I am wondering about, truth be told. A week from today is your birthday, you know, and you've neither said nor planned a thing for it, as far as we can tell."

Frodo laughed. "And by 'we' you mean, you, and Rosie, and Merry, and Pippin, and half the Shire besides, I suppose."

Sam's mouth pulled upwards on one side, and he blushed just a little. "Now, Mr. Frodo, there's no doubt you throw a good party, an' I love a party as much as any hobbit. But so do you – or at least you did, before…" He trailed off, feeling suddenly uncertain, but Frodo said nothing, so he continued. "Besides, yer last birthday was in Rivendell, so this one is the first since we've returned to the Shire, and, well, I s'pose I was expecting you to celebrate, yet there's no sign of it at one week shy, and I felt I should at least ask, and see what yer mind is on the matter."

Sam paused again. For a moment longer Frodo said nothing. His eyes were cast down upon the maps in front of him, and Sam could not read his expression.

"Bilbo will be one hundred and thirty, you know?" he said at last, looking up at Sam and smiling. "One more year and he will pass the Old Took! I so wish I could be with him next week, on our birthday, to celebrate."

Sam nodded. "That would be lovely," he agreed, "but I don't suppose he can travel anymore. Are you thinking of goin' ta see him? Is that why you've not planned for a party?"

Frodo sighed. "No, Sam. In any case I could not reach Rivendell in a week, as you well know. No, I have not planned for a party because I simply have not had the heart to do so. There are many, though I would invite them, who would not come, I think. And those dear to me I see as often as I wish, so a large celebration seems unnecessary somehow."

Sam furrowed his brow with concern. It was true that his master had quietly dropped out of almost all of the Shire doings since he resigned as Deputy Mayor. It was also true that some who had called Frodo 'friend' before he went on his quest now avoided him completely, and that he did not have the honor that Sam felt…that he knew Frodo deserved. This pained Sam sorely, though he understood it not and knew not how to change it.

"Well," Sam said, slowly, "How would it be if we planned the party then – planned to for you?" His voice grew a little faster. "I know it's not the normal way of going about things, but Rosie and I, and your friends – we could plan it for you, and you wouldn't have to do a thing, except pick out presents ta give, if you had a mind. And no one need know that you didn't plan it your own self, neither. I know you would enjoy a party, Frodo. You enjoyed my wedding well enough."

Frodo laughed again, and clapped Sam across the shoulders. "That I did, Sam, a little too much perhaps, in the way of ale, but it was a lovely party."

"So, may we then?" Sam asked, liking this idea more and more. "May we plan a party for you, for next week?"

"How could I refuse such a generous offer, Sam? Of course you may," Frodo said with a genuine smile. "But you must let me help. Indeed, you must make me help, and not let me stay holed up here with my work. Promise me, Sam."

"Alright," said Sam, standing up from the table.

"And not too big a party," Frodo said seriously, " I mean it, Sam, just my closest friends and relations. I haven't the heart nor the energy for a party of large proportions."

Sam nodded. "Yes, sir. Just a small party, but it will be a merry one, and we shall toast Mr. Bilbo proper, as well."

"Yes, we shall!" said Frodo. "In fact, I have done enough work for tonight, I think. Let's you and Rosie and I work on a list for invitations before bed." He stood up then, and went with Sam into the bright kitchen.

~TBC~