Sam's Tale

Author: Nilramiel@aol.com, aka RosieCotton

Acknowledgements/Disclaimers: See chapter 1

Genre: General/Romance

Setting: The Shire, September 1420

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Chapter 31: Fifty-two

Rating: G

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The morning of September twenty-second dawned cloudy. Frodo was concerned that the Birthday party would be sullied by a rainstorm, but Sam and Rosie, whose lives had always been concerned with weather patterns, assured him that it would clear off by midmorning. And so it did. When the party began at noon, the only clouds visible were of the soft, puffy kind, soaring lazily from West to East across the pale autumn sky.

It was a modest party, by hobbit standards. The guest list had been pared down to about 40 hobbits, a truly intimate gathering by Sam's standards, but almost more company than Frodo wished.

Of the forty invited guests, only twenty-seven had come, including Merry and Pippin, portions of their families, the Cottons, the Gamgees, some Bolgers, and some other cousins. Sam was disappointed to see the empty seats scattered among the tables, but Frodo seemed very pleased with the party, so Sam wisely kept his mouth shut. The only comment he made was an aside to his Gaffer.

"Time was when folk would cancel their own parties to come to a Baggins'," he muttered irritably to the old hobbit.

"Now lad, don't ye go takin' offense fer someone else, least of all yer betters. Mr. Frodo seems right happy enough with his party just tha way 'tis." The Gaffer gestured with his pipe towards Frodo, who was laughing with Merry and Fatty across the garden.

Sam looked, and Frodo certainly appeared to be having a good time, but the uncomfortable feeling continued to press against the back of his mind, and he brought it up again later to Rosie.

"It ain't right, Rose. He saved the Shire - he saved all of middle-earth - yet he's not giv'n one tenth of the respect or honor he's deservin' of."

Merry and Pippin had come to the party dressed up in their armor. They often went about the Shire dressed so, and quite impressive they looked all in green and white and silver and sable. Sam knew they were doing their part - educating the Shirefolk about the War and the King who rules not only Gondor but also the North. Folk were eager to hear their tales, and if "dressing up queer" made folk listen the closer, then Pip and Merry were more than willing to cooperate. Sam suspected, however, that there was another reason they wore their finery so often- he remembered well the look on Rosie's face when he had galloped up to her doorstep clad in mail and girt with sword. He smiled at the memory.

Well, if Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin could find deserving lasses, than so much the better. Why, there sat Pippin now, showing his sword to a group of young beauties, over by the food table.

Mr. Frodo, though, that was more difficult. Sam would be pleased to see him so much as nod to a lass. Before the quest, Frodo had been quite popular with the lasses, much more than Sam himself, and had enjoyed a turn around the dance floor as much as any hobbit. But since their return, he seemed to have put such things aside. He still went to the Green Dragon with the travelers from time to time, but he was quite a few years older than the rest of them, and all signs pointed to Frodo following Mr. Bilbo's steps and remaining a bachelor.

"A shame that," Sam said to himself, "though I do understand. Perhaps he thinks himself unable to give himself to someone, at least not yet."

Sam's musings were interrupted at that moment by a great cheer from the party guests. Looking up in surprise, he saw his master standing at the other end of the garden, smiling and talking animatedly, mug in hand. He was giving his birthday speech, and his eyes and voice were light.

".I would also like to thank most sincerely my dearest friend, Samwise Gamgee, and his wife Rosie. Without them this party would not have happened."

There was another cheer, and several hobbits clapped Sam across the back. Rosie, who was taking her turn with the musicians, smiled at both Sam and Frodo and made a small curtsy.

"And finally," Frodo continued, "I would like to offer a toast - to my dear Uncle Biblo, who is one hundred and thirty years old today. I wish he were here with us, but as you know he is in Rivendell, where I am sure he is being feasted quite handsomely."

Frodo drained his cup, and the other hobbits followed suit. With that, he sat back down beside Merry and reached for his plate, but not before smiling and nodding at Sam. His face was shining with gratitude and happiness.

"He's alright, Samwise Gamgee," Sam told himself, nodding back to Frodo and raising his mug to him. "He'll be as right as rain once he finishes that red book of his."

And certainly, at that moment, it seemed so.

~TBC~