Samwise Gamgee's Day Off
-Mbradford
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or places mentioned here. They are the property and invention of J.R.R. Tolkien, Master Storyteller.
Summary: Frodo thinks Sam works much too hard, and decides to give him a day off. Sam has too much time on his hands, and Frodo has too much dirt on his. This story is set during the time between Bilbo's departure for Rivendell and the start of the quest. Rated G.
A bright summer's morn, Bag End.
Frodo glanced out the kitchen window toward the garden as he dried and stacked the last of the freshly washed breakfast dishes in the cupboard. What a fine day it would be! The sun was shining brightly and not a hint of a cloud could be seen in the clear blue sky. A light breeze danced through the trees, stopping only to pick up the scent of the flowers Sam was watering.
Sam was in the garden as always, and Frodo watched him thoughtfully. Sam looked pleased, examining the blooms on a rose bush as he set the watering can down. As his eyes scanned the greenery near the roses, a sudden look of consternation crossed his face. He bent down purposefully and when he stood upright again, he held a weed pinched between the fingers of one hand.
As he watched Sam moving through the garden, Frodo thought about his dear friend. Sam worked so hard, day after day. He was always there, never complaining but diligently tending with loving hands to everything green and beautiful. How in the name of Eru could Frodo ever do without him? Frodo smiled. Sam deserved far greater reward for his labors than he ever asked, and in that moment, Frodo decided to do something about it.
Dropping the dish towel on the table as he left the kitchen, Frodo headed toward the garden. Sam looked up at his approach, and Frodo beamed at him. "Good morning, Sam! The roses look wonderful!"
"'Mornin', Mr. Frodo," Sam replied cheerfully. "They do seem to be takin' on rather well, I'll agree." Sam dropped the weed he'd plucked into a bucket by his foot, and dusted his hands off on his breeches. "That rain last week was a blessed thing, if I'm any judge of things."
"Sam, you have a magic touch with all growing things. I don't think even Gandalf could do better," said Frodo, and Sam's face colored slightly. Such compliments didn't really make him feel uncomfortable as such, but he the way he saw it, he was just doing what he liked to do.
"I'm no wizard, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied. "I'm a gardener, plain and simple. There's nothing to it but a little soil and seed, sun and water. I guess it just brings joy to my heart to see things grow." Sam smiled as he gazed at the garden around him. He had a few things planned for the day. There were some pesky weeds he hadn't gotten to yet, and some bushes to prune, and the blackberries were ready for picking.
"Sam, I know you enjoy what you do, but you're always working so hard. Perhaps it's time you took a day for yourself, just to rest a bit." Frodo looked into Sam's eyes, watching his reaction. "Why not take the rest of today and just relax for a change?"
Sam looked at Frodo with a surprised expression, and perhaps a little dismay. "It's no trouble to me at all, Mr. Frodo," he replied quickly. "I don't feel I'm needin' a rest right now, and there are some things I planned to finish up today," he protested uncertainly. Elbereth, what would he do with himself all day, if he wasn't tending the garden? What had given Frodo the idea that he needed a day off?
"Sam, I insist. You've more than earned a little time to yourself, and we both know you will never give yourself any. It's up to me to make sure you relax sometimes, I suppose." Frodo turned to face Sam and adopted what he hoped was a suitably authoritative tone. "Therefore, you will take the rest of this lovely day off, Samwise, and do something besides working for a change."
Sam stuttered a reply. "Well, if you insist, Mr. Frodo. I mean, I suppose I could find something else to do for an afternoon, if you're sure. If you really think -"
"Go on, Sam!" Frodo laughed as he took the watering can from his gardener's hand and pushed him gently toward the gate. "This is your day. Go do a little fishing, or something fun. Shoo!"
Sam looked back over his shoulder as Frodo waved at him. A day off? What an odd idea! He enjoyed his work in the garden, and couldn't imagine spending his time in any other way. He hoped he hadn't somehow given Frodo the idea that he felt overworked in any sense. He most certainly didn't feel any such thing. It was just that he liked the sunshine and fresh air, and the satisfaction of seeing the healthy plants growing in response to his efforts. He was in the garden every day the weather permitted, but it was only because he wanted to be there. He sighed, wondering how he was going to use this free time Frodo had given him as a gift of sorts. He couldn't refuse, or he would risk hurting his master's feelings, and Frodo had been so enthusiastic about the idea.
He supposed he could head over to the Green Dragon for Elevenses. It would be nice to chat with Rosie for a few minutes, and he was rather hungry now that he thought about it. What would people think, seeing him out and about this time of day, with the sun shining so brightly? He'd have some explaining to do regarding his lack of attention to duty, but Frodo had been so insistent! He headed off down the path, thinking about some crispy bacon and fresh applesauce.
~*~
Frodo looked around at the garden, beaming with satisfaction. He'd managed to get Sam to take a break, and now set about implementing the rest of his plan. His friend mustn't think things were going without being done because he was taking some time for enjoying himself. That simply wouldn't do, Frodo had decided.
Although he was a gentlehobbit, Frodo knew a weed when he saw one. He could picture the look on the Gaffer's face at the thought of him yanking up weeds by the roots and plucking blackberries from the bushes with his own hands. Why, it wouldn't be the least bit proper, would it? But he was a Baggins, so any such odd behavior should be overlooked, by and large. Everyone had referred to Bilbo as "Mad Baggins", and they seemed more than willing to transfer the title to Frodo upon his inheritance of Bag End.
"Mad Baggins, indeed," Frodo said softly to himself, as he walked back toward Bag End to change his clothes. He had some travel-worn attire that should suit for gardening, and it would only take a moment to get dressed for a day's work. Humming a favorite tune of Bilbo's, he opened the door and stepped inside, preparing to put his plan into action.
~*~
The Green Dragon Inn was a favorite meeting place for many of the folk about Hobbiton, largely due to the very tasty meals served at all times of day, and a good supply of the best ale to be found between there and Buckland. And then there was Rosie Cotton. Sam's family had known the Cotton family for many years, and Sam found that he'd grown quite fond of Rosie. Unfortunately, so had others, including that stinker, Ted Sandyman.
Best not to dwell on that, Sam decided. He stepped through the door to the sounds of laughter and conversation, and the smell of something delicious cooking in the kitchen. There were quite a few hobbits seated in the pub, and Sam was a little surprised. He had not really known whether there would be a crowd or not, since he was usually busy in the garden during that time of day.
That very fact did not escape some of the patrons, including a small group seated by the far wall. A cheerful voice came lilting across the room at Sam, before he had even seen the speaker. "Sam! Hey, Merry, it's Sam Gamgee coming to join us for Elevenses!" Pippin fairly leapt up from where he was seated next to Merry and Fredegar. He waved energetically at Sam, who started toward their table.
"Hullo, Mr. Pippin," Sam answered. "Mr. Merry, Mr. Fredegar," he greeted the others, nodding politely. Merry moved over to make room for Sam to join them.
"What brings you into our company this time of day, Sam?" Merry asked curiously. "I thought you'd be at Bag End."
"That's where I started out from, it's certain," Sam replied, a little self- consciously. "Mr. Frodo's taken it into his head that I could use a rest, as he put it, and he fairly shoved me out the gate this mornin'. He said I was to take the rest of the day and go enjoy myself." He snorted and fidgeted with a fork on the table. "I can't think what I'll find to do, as I'd not planned any such thing," he finished fretfully.
"That sounds like a fine idea to me, Sam," said Fredegar. Fredegar 'Fatty' Bolger had been a friend to Sam and Frodo for a long time, and consequently a friend to Merry and Pippin as well. The five of them could be found enjoying ale and song at the Dragon in the evenings from time to time. Pippin and Merry could be counted on to dig their cousin Frodo out of his hobbit hole for an evening every now and then, and were themselves frequent patrons.
"I'm in agreement," Pippin chimed in. "If we think about it, we should be able to help you find something fun to do with your time today," he enthused.
"Mr. Frodo suggested a bit of fishing." Sam had always enjoyed going fishing, even if he didn't catch anything worth keeping. It was always a nice, quiet way to spend some time, sitting in the shade and listening to the sound of the brook bubbling softly and the breeze stirring in the leaves overhead.
"Oh, that sounds like a fine idea!" Pippin chirped, with enough enthusiasm for both Sam and himself. "Do you mind if I join you?"
Well, there went the part about fishing being quiet, Sam thought. But as energetic as Pippin could be, Sam had to admit he was good company, after all.
Merry hailed a barmaid, and ordered a round of ales for the group. They ordered something to eat and went back to their conversation as the mugs were passed around. "Frodo has a point, Sam," said Merry. "You do spend a lot of time working for him. Maybe he just felt it was time you slowed down a little."
"I know he's meanin' well by it," Sam replied, sipping his ale, "but I don't mind the work and it's just where I belong, in the garden and all." Mmmm, the ale tasted good. The walk had made him thirsty, and he drank more deeply from the tankard.
"Well, I think it's a splendid idea," Pippin joined in. "It won't kill you to have a little fun with us, you know." Pippin raised his mug as if toasting the idea in general, and took a healthy swig of ale.
"Merry and I will probably skip the fishing this time around if that sits all right with you, Sam." Freddy sipped from his mug and Merry nodded in assent. "We'd planned to do a little visiting about town today and a few other errands. But maybe you could coax us back here this evening?"
"If Mr. Frodo can be persuaded, we may join you later on," Sam replied. Whoops! His mug was empty. He must have really been thirsty. He caught the barmaid's attention and ordered another ale.
A few minutes later, the meal arrived, delivered to their table by none other than Rosie Cotton. A look of mild surprise flitted across her face when she saw that Sam had joined the group. "Good day, Mr. Gamgee," she greeted him with a smile. "It's an unusual hour to see you here, but a pleasant surprise, certainly."
Sam blushed, trying to tell himself it was due to the ale, but he knew it wasn't. He was pretty sure his companions knew it too, by the smirks on their faces. "Good day, Miss Rose," he replied with a shy glance. He had been hoping to spend a few moments chatting with her without the added pressure of companions nearby, but it wasn't to be.
"Frodo gave Sam the day off, to do as he pleases," Merry said, giving Sam a rather wicked wink. "And it's always a pleasure to see you, Rosie." Merry's eyes sparkled impishly as he raised his tankard. "Sam's own words, mind you."
"Meriadoc Brandybuck, you're the greatest rascal that ever walked," Rosie said, laughing pleasantly. Turning back to Sam, who was red to the tips of his ears, she said, "It's a pleasure to see you too, Mr. Samwise. I hope you have a fine day." With that, she left them to their meal. Sam took a drink of his ale, averting his eyes as he recovered his dignity.
"Sorry, Sam. I can't help myself, you know." Merry chuckled, digging into his food. Sam was much too shy, in Merry's opinion. He couldn't resist needling him just a bit when he blushed like a tween in Rosie's presence.
"I know that all too well, Mr. Merry," Sam replied. Merry teased them all quite mercilessly when the opportunity presented itself. It was just part of his nature, and they were all fair game. It was just Sam's turn this time, and no harm done.
Sam let the company of friends and the good, cold ale soothe his mood somewhat. He could find a way to kill some time today and he would thank Mr. Frodo for his consideration and tell him what a nice time he had. It was just one day after all, and tomorrow things would be back to normal again.
One more round of ale later, the group broke up and went their separate ways. Fredegar and Merry waved at Sam and Pippin as they headed into town. Pippin grabbed Sam's arm and began to hurry him down the path, towards Bagshot Row. The Gamgees lived a few doors down from Frodo, and it was the closest place to find what they needed for an afternoon of fishing.
"Hurry up and relax, Samwise," Pippin joked happily as they walked. "We'll get a couple of poles and some bait and have a wonderful time."
~*~
This should do nicely, Frodo thought as he selected a worn but sturdy cotton shirt and a pair of old breeches that were fraying slightly at the hems. A little dirt from the garden would do no harm to these, and they were comfortable enough. Having changed his wardrobe, he stepped out into the sunshine and set about beginning the chores. Now where was that bucket?
He spied it near the rose bush where Sam had placed it, and he scooped it up. He walked around toward the back corner of the garden, where he knew Sam had been planning to do some weeding. Those weeds didn't stand a chance with Sam on the job. Well, there would be no reprieve for them today, regardless of the gardener's absence. Frodo knelt down and began pulling up the offending greens one by one with his bare hands. He realized he had no gloves to wear, but he wasn't going to let that deter him. He could handle a little dirt under his nails.
As he reached beneath a flowering shrub to get at a partially concealed weed, he felt a sudden stab of pain in his finger and pulled his hand back with a yelp. A bee flew out of the shrub and past his ear, buzzing madly away from him. He'd surprised it and the insect had stung him on his right forefinger. It was already beginning to redden and swell, and it felt like a hot needle was embedded in it, burning painfully.
"Ouch!" Frodo grabbed his hand and squeezed it as he pulled away from the shrub. Alternately sucking on the finger and waving it in the air, he stood up and walked toward Bag End to get some ice and a bandage. This was a fine way to begin his workday. He still had the rest of those weeds to pull, some pruning to do, and then there were the blackberries. He would have to do the remaining chores with a sore finger, it seemed.
He went downstairs to the cool air of the cellar where he had a small icebox. Sam had filled it for him just the night before, and Frodo chipped a small piece from one of the larger chunks. Holding it against the offended finger, he went to the kitchen and began rummaging around for the salve and bandages he kept in the kitchen.
~*~
Sam and Pippin made their way to number 3 Bagshot Row, passing by Bag End as they did so. Mr. Frodo must be busy in his study, Sam mused. There wasn't a soul outside as they passed by.
When they arrived at the Gamgees', Sam ducked in the door quickly and returned in a few moments with two fishing poles and a bait bucket. He was glad his Gaffer was out running errands and wasn't there to question his presence at home so early in the day. He really didn't feel like explaining Mr. Frodo's odd idea, and he knew the Gaffer wouldn't approve of it in any case.
Having secured their fishing gear, Sam and Pippin set out for a stream a short distance into the woods near Hobbiton. It was a good, quiet spot, and Sam counted it among his favorite places to fish. There were a number of tall, sturdy trees about that gave a comfortable shade from the heat of day, and a thicket of low bushes alongside the brook.
Near a break in the bushes, Sam and Pippin stopped and readied their poles. Pippin made a rather clumsy cast toward the brook, entangling his line in the bushes near the bank. "Oops. Sorry, Sam. I don't suppose I'll catch any fish in the bushes, will I?" He said, smiling apologetically.
"Don't let it worry you, Mr. Pippin. I'll untangle the line for you." Sam started down the slight slope toward the bushes, noticing the mud beneath his feet as he went. Here under the trees, the sun had not dried the ground completely yet and it was still a bit muddy from the recent rains.
Sam reached into the bushes and grasped Pippin's line, giving it a sharp tug. The line stubbornly refused to come free, however, and Sam adjusted his position a little closer to the thick growth for another try at it. Stepping still closer to the bushes, he suddenly felt himself slipping in the mud and losing his balance. The ale probably wasn't helping either.
With a cry of surprise and dismay, Sam toppled forward directly into the leafy bushes. Dismay turned to something akin to horror, as an unmistakable stench suddenly rose around him, sending his nose into olfactory convulsions. "Aaauuuugggghhhhh!" Sam cried out, flailing madly as he tried to get out of the bushes. A small, furry black creature with a distinctive white stripe down its back bolted out before him, and ran into the forest in panic.
Pippin heard the commotion and Sam's shout, and began descending the gentle slope toward the brook to see what had happened. His nose detected the skunk before his eyes got a chance. His eyes widened and began to water a little as he approached and saw Sam still struggling to free himself from the undergrowth and regain his feet. "Oh, Sam! What have you found there? I'd say you've surprised something rather nasty," Pippin said, his Tuckborough brogue lilting through the air.
"I'd say so!" Sam replied indignantly. "Now help me out of this underbrush. I've got to get cleaned up before this stink becomes a permanent part of me," he said with deep dismay. What a fine thing this was! Of all the bushes in the forest, he had to pick the one with a skunk in it to tumble into. Those creatures smelled bad enough from a distance, but at close range they were positively devastating, and Sam had been directly in the line of fire.
"How in the Shire am I going to get this reek off me?" he lamented to Pippin. "Just water alone won't do it, I'll warrant."
Pippin tried to be polite as he assessed Sam's plight, but he couldn't help holding his nose and standing a few paces away as he did his best to answer Sam's question. "Once when I was just a wee lad, one of the dogs had a similar encounter. My auntie washed him down with tomato juice," Pippin said thoughtfully, coughing and wiping his eyes.
Sam's eyes widened and he stared at Pippin. "Tomato juice? You expect me use that? And where am I going to get enough of it to do the job?" Sam coughed, trying not to gag. Pippin could get away from the smell just by walking away, but Sam couldn't very well walk away from himself. He supposed he would have to ask Mr. Frodo's help with the tomato juice. There was some in the pantry at the Gamgees' but not enough, as Sam had said, to do the job. He would have to borrow some from Frodo, and face the embarrassment of having his master see - and smell - him like this.
"I guess we won't be catching any fish today," Pippin said, looking a little downcast. "We'd better start for Hobbiton and find that tomato juice." He looked at Sam's pained expression and gave him his most encouraging smile. "It worked on the dog," he said. Sam gave him a sour look and they started working their way back up the path and out of the forest.
~*~
Frodo had bandaged his finger and finished pulling the weeds. He had moved on to the blackberry bushes, which were thick with juicy, ripe berries. They were also rather thick with long, sharp thorns as well. For a moment, Frodo wished he had some gloves for this job. On the heels of that thought came the realization that he would need some pretty thick gloves to avoid being poked by thorns like that. How did Sam keep from being shredded by them?
He started with the berries that were closest to the outside of the bushes, and got quite a few without incident. After a while he had exhausted the supply of those that were easy to reach and had no choice but to start reaching further into the bushes. Within a few minutes, the backs of his hands and his forearms were covered in stinging scratches.
When he'd finally finished with the berries, he paused to soothe his hands in a little cold water from the pump. Sam was surely going to be upset with him for allowing himself to be scratched up so badly, but it wasn't as if any permanent damage had been done. Frodo turned the pump off and sat down on the grass, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. More than ever, he was sure he had done the right thing by insisting that Sam have a rest from his labors. This was hard work indeed!
He leaned back against the grass, feeling suddenly weary. It had taken longer than he had planned to pull the weeds and pick the berries. Perhaps he would rest for just a short while before attempting any further chores. The sun shone warmly on his face, and he closed his eyes, letting it wash over him pleasantly. The fresh scent of the grass and the warm rays against his skin had other plans, and a sound sleep overcame him, there in the garden.
~*~
A couple hours after their unfortunate meeting with a representative of the local wildlife, Sam and Pippin made their way up the hill toward Bag End. It had taken a while to get there, since they had used less traveled paths in hopes of avoiding contact with any other hobbits. Sam thought the smell had faded a little, or perhaps he was getting accustomed to it to some degree. He was anxious to get cleaned up, and that meant getting through the inevitable moment of seeing the look on Mr. Frodo's face when he arrived at Bag End.
Pippin was still with him, but stood back at a distance as Sam knocked softly on Frodo's door. There was no answer. Perplexed, Sam knocked again, harder this time. Still there came no sound from within, but the door swung open slightly. His own embarrassment over his aromatic state was forgotten briefly as he peered inside with concern in his features. Where was Mr. Frodo? Was something wrong?
"Mr. Pippin, would you check on Mr. Frodo for me?" Sam asked his companion. He was not about to enter Bag End with the smell of the skunk clinging to him. No point in Mr. Frodo's having to suffer on his gardener's account! "I'm goin' out back to see if he's takin' some air in the garden."
Pippin stepped through the round door and closed it behind him. "Frodo, hello, cousin!" He called, as he approached the study. The study was empty. When he passed the kitchen window, something caught his eye. He stopped in his tracks and looked back out the window, scanning the garden carefully. Was that Frodo in the garden, asleep in the sun? What could he be doing out there?
Sam was, at that same moment, heading for the back portion of the garden. He was hoping that he would find a good-sized washbasin in the shed. He could hardly take a proper bath in something that small, but he wasn't going to be welcomed into any occupied residence smelling as he was.
As he walked, he looked around him for any sign that Frodo was somewhere nearby. Maybe he could clean himself up without having to be seen by his master in the process. Of course, he'd still have some explaining to do about the tomato juice, but that could wait.
Musing to himself, Sam nearly tripped over something in his path. Not something, someone! "Mr. Frodo!" Sam knelt down beside his master, who was lying on his back in the grass, stirring groggily. What was Frodo doing out there? He didn't look ill, but there was a bandage on one finger and the backs of his hands were covered in scratches and scrapes. And that sunburn! That was going to hurt.
"S-Sam?" Frodo opened his eyes slowly. Oh, my! That little nap must have turned into something a bit longer if his gardener had already returned. He sniffed the air, and regarded his gardener curiously. "Sam, what is that smell? And why are you back so soon?"
Sam stared at Frodo in open astonishment. "Mr. Frodo! Never you mind about me, now! I'll tell you the entire tale, but what are you doing out here in the garden? You're - well -" Sam stuttered. "Meaning no disrespect, Sir, but you're a right mess!"
And so he was. Dirt from the garden clung to Frodo's clothes and hands. Bits of leaves and grass were stuck in his hair from napping on the ground, and his face was streaked with grime and sweat. His normally pale skin was reddened by a painful sunburn. If he could have seen himself as he appeared to Sam's eyes, he would have reflected that he looked nothing like the scholarly Master of Bag End that his gardener knew so well.
Frodo gazed blearily at his gardener. Sam was looking a little worse for wear as well, if the truth be told. Like Frodo, he had leaves stuck in his hair, and his feet were quite muddy. The breeze changed directions and Frodo smelled something simply dreadful. His blue eyes widened when he realized it was Sam!
"Sam? Elbereth! Just what have you gotten into? You're less tidy than usual yourself, and - " he stopped mid-sentence, not sure how to proceed. "You're, um, shall we say, aromatic?"
Pippin emerged into the garden and looked at Frodo, mute with surprise. What a strange day! Was it his imagination, or was everyone behaving oddly and suffering the consequences? As he pondered the day's events, his Tookish nature shone forth and he found a vast amount of humor in all of it. "Oh, Merry will be sorry he missed all this. I shall have fun describing it to him, though," he said, grinning from ear to ear.
"Just you mind your tongue, Mr. Pippin!" Sam was in no mood to contemplate the thought of Pippin at the Green Dragon, well into his third mug of ale, recounting - and doubtless expanding - the details of all that had occurred.
Frodo got to his feet and brushed himself off as best he could. He supposed he owed Sam an explanation. "Sam, I'm fine. I just wanted to do something for you, since you're such a great help to me. You deserved a little time to yourself, and I couldn't see the harm in taking care of things in your absence. It was just a few weeds and a few blackberry bushes."
"But your hands!" Sam said, aghast at what he saw. Frodo's pale, graceful hands bore nasty red scratches from the blackberry thorns, and the finger that had been stung by the bee was still a little swollen. "Mr. Frodo, your hands weren't meant for such things! They were made for holding books and writing about elves and dragons and such," he said, sounding rather stricken.
"Oh, Sam! Please don't be upset," Frodo replied. He would have to turn the conversation away from the somewhat sorry state he'd gotten himself into or Sam would start blaming himself for it, saying it was his fault for not keeping to his duty.
"What about you?" Frodo inquired. "Obviously something less than pleasant has befallen you today. Out with it, Samwise!"
Sam looked at his toes. Now this was going to be every bit as embarrassing as he'd thought. "Mr. Pippin and I were going to do a bit of fishing as you mentioned," he began, but a giggle from Pippin broke his train of thought.
"Sam made the acquaintance of a rather peevish skunk in the forest, Cousin Frodo." Pippin enjoyed the look on Frodo's face immensely. "It must have decided to teach him a thing or two about dropping in on someone unannounced!"
Frodo tried as hard as he could to keep a straight face, but it was no use. A smile slowly began to creep across his sunburned face, spreading into a grin, and he shook with suppressed laughter. His mirth was not to be contained, however, and he found himself laughing so hard he could barely breathe.
Sam made a slightly choked noise and began to laugh as well for he realized what a ridiculous pair they were at that moment, grubby and disheveled, and in Sam's case, smelling to the stars above! "Mr. Frodo," Sam gasped as he caught his breath, "Please promise me you'll believe me when I say my workin' suits me fine enough. It's just the natural order of things, if you take my meaning, Sir." He looked at his master pointedly, and Frodo could plainly see a great deal of the old Gaffer in his gardener when he spoke again. "We ought not to go makin' repairs to things that are working right to begin with, and no mistake!"
"I cannot argue that point, Sam, nor would I presume to try right now," Frodo replied. He steered Sam in the direction of Bag End. "Now, to more pressing matters. How are we to deal with your predicament?"
"Tomato juice," Sam and Pippin said in unison, bringing another burst of laughter from Frodo. The thought of Sam with tomato juice dripping from his hair was quite a mental image.
"Mr. Frodo, if it's all the same to you, I can clean up in the shed with a washtub. Mr. Bilbo would have my ears for ruining Bag End, if you follow me." Sam stopped outside the door, not wanting to follow Pippin and Frodo inside.
"Nonsense, Sam. We'll get you cleaned up right away, and there will be no harm done. Although I have to say, the clothes you're wearing are probably done for," Frodo observed. "Pippin, could I persuade you to dash to the Gamgees to get Sam something clean to wear?"
"Certainly, Cousin." Pippin turned and walked out the door toward the Gamgees', whistling happily as he went. It was easy for Pippin to whistle, Sam thought. He wasn't the one about to have a tomato bath!
As he put the kettle on to heat water for a bath, Frodo made a promise to himself to never pressure his gardener to take a day off again. But if Sam should ever ask for one himself, it would be granted without hesitation. Sam, in turn, promised himself he would never let Frodo talk him into doing anything that silly again. He knew where he belonged, and he was going to stay there. Pippin thought about tomato juice. And that made him think about tomatoes. And mushrooms, and apples -
~end~
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or places mentioned here. They are the property and invention of J.R.R. Tolkien, Master Storyteller.
Summary: Frodo thinks Sam works much too hard, and decides to give him a day off. Sam has too much time on his hands, and Frodo has too much dirt on his. This story is set during the time between Bilbo's departure for Rivendell and the start of the quest. Rated G.
A bright summer's morn, Bag End.
Frodo glanced out the kitchen window toward the garden as he dried and stacked the last of the freshly washed breakfast dishes in the cupboard. What a fine day it would be! The sun was shining brightly and not a hint of a cloud could be seen in the clear blue sky. A light breeze danced through the trees, stopping only to pick up the scent of the flowers Sam was watering.
Sam was in the garden as always, and Frodo watched him thoughtfully. Sam looked pleased, examining the blooms on a rose bush as he set the watering can down. As his eyes scanned the greenery near the roses, a sudden look of consternation crossed his face. He bent down purposefully and when he stood upright again, he held a weed pinched between the fingers of one hand.
As he watched Sam moving through the garden, Frodo thought about his dear friend. Sam worked so hard, day after day. He was always there, never complaining but diligently tending with loving hands to everything green and beautiful. How in the name of Eru could Frodo ever do without him? Frodo smiled. Sam deserved far greater reward for his labors than he ever asked, and in that moment, Frodo decided to do something about it.
Dropping the dish towel on the table as he left the kitchen, Frodo headed toward the garden. Sam looked up at his approach, and Frodo beamed at him. "Good morning, Sam! The roses look wonderful!"
"'Mornin', Mr. Frodo," Sam replied cheerfully. "They do seem to be takin' on rather well, I'll agree." Sam dropped the weed he'd plucked into a bucket by his foot, and dusted his hands off on his breeches. "That rain last week was a blessed thing, if I'm any judge of things."
"Sam, you have a magic touch with all growing things. I don't think even Gandalf could do better," said Frodo, and Sam's face colored slightly. Such compliments didn't really make him feel uncomfortable as such, but he the way he saw it, he was just doing what he liked to do.
"I'm no wizard, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied. "I'm a gardener, plain and simple. There's nothing to it but a little soil and seed, sun and water. I guess it just brings joy to my heart to see things grow." Sam smiled as he gazed at the garden around him. He had a few things planned for the day. There were some pesky weeds he hadn't gotten to yet, and some bushes to prune, and the blackberries were ready for picking.
"Sam, I know you enjoy what you do, but you're always working so hard. Perhaps it's time you took a day for yourself, just to rest a bit." Frodo looked into Sam's eyes, watching his reaction. "Why not take the rest of today and just relax for a change?"
Sam looked at Frodo with a surprised expression, and perhaps a little dismay. "It's no trouble to me at all, Mr. Frodo," he replied quickly. "I don't feel I'm needin' a rest right now, and there are some things I planned to finish up today," he protested uncertainly. Elbereth, what would he do with himself all day, if he wasn't tending the garden? What had given Frodo the idea that he needed a day off?
"Sam, I insist. You've more than earned a little time to yourself, and we both know you will never give yourself any. It's up to me to make sure you relax sometimes, I suppose." Frodo turned to face Sam and adopted what he hoped was a suitably authoritative tone. "Therefore, you will take the rest of this lovely day off, Samwise, and do something besides working for a change."
Sam stuttered a reply. "Well, if you insist, Mr. Frodo. I mean, I suppose I could find something else to do for an afternoon, if you're sure. If you really think -"
"Go on, Sam!" Frodo laughed as he took the watering can from his gardener's hand and pushed him gently toward the gate. "This is your day. Go do a little fishing, or something fun. Shoo!"
Sam looked back over his shoulder as Frodo waved at him. A day off? What an odd idea! He enjoyed his work in the garden, and couldn't imagine spending his time in any other way. He hoped he hadn't somehow given Frodo the idea that he felt overworked in any sense. He most certainly didn't feel any such thing. It was just that he liked the sunshine and fresh air, and the satisfaction of seeing the healthy plants growing in response to his efforts. He was in the garden every day the weather permitted, but it was only because he wanted to be there. He sighed, wondering how he was going to use this free time Frodo had given him as a gift of sorts. He couldn't refuse, or he would risk hurting his master's feelings, and Frodo had been so enthusiastic about the idea.
He supposed he could head over to the Green Dragon for Elevenses. It would be nice to chat with Rosie for a few minutes, and he was rather hungry now that he thought about it. What would people think, seeing him out and about this time of day, with the sun shining so brightly? He'd have some explaining to do regarding his lack of attention to duty, but Frodo had been so insistent! He headed off down the path, thinking about some crispy bacon and fresh applesauce.
~*~
Frodo looked around at the garden, beaming with satisfaction. He'd managed to get Sam to take a break, and now set about implementing the rest of his plan. His friend mustn't think things were going without being done because he was taking some time for enjoying himself. That simply wouldn't do, Frodo had decided.
Although he was a gentlehobbit, Frodo knew a weed when he saw one. He could picture the look on the Gaffer's face at the thought of him yanking up weeds by the roots and plucking blackberries from the bushes with his own hands. Why, it wouldn't be the least bit proper, would it? But he was a Baggins, so any such odd behavior should be overlooked, by and large. Everyone had referred to Bilbo as "Mad Baggins", and they seemed more than willing to transfer the title to Frodo upon his inheritance of Bag End.
"Mad Baggins, indeed," Frodo said softly to himself, as he walked back toward Bag End to change his clothes. He had some travel-worn attire that should suit for gardening, and it would only take a moment to get dressed for a day's work. Humming a favorite tune of Bilbo's, he opened the door and stepped inside, preparing to put his plan into action.
~*~
The Green Dragon Inn was a favorite meeting place for many of the folk about Hobbiton, largely due to the very tasty meals served at all times of day, and a good supply of the best ale to be found between there and Buckland. And then there was Rosie Cotton. Sam's family had known the Cotton family for many years, and Sam found that he'd grown quite fond of Rosie. Unfortunately, so had others, including that stinker, Ted Sandyman.
Best not to dwell on that, Sam decided. He stepped through the door to the sounds of laughter and conversation, and the smell of something delicious cooking in the kitchen. There were quite a few hobbits seated in the pub, and Sam was a little surprised. He had not really known whether there would be a crowd or not, since he was usually busy in the garden during that time of day.
That very fact did not escape some of the patrons, including a small group seated by the far wall. A cheerful voice came lilting across the room at Sam, before he had even seen the speaker. "Sam! Hey, Merry, it's Sam Gamgee coming to join us for Elevenses!" Pippin fairly leapt up from where he was seated next to Merry and Fredegar. He waved energetically at Sam, who started toward their table.
"Hullo, Mr. Pippin," Sam answered. "Mr. Merry, Mr. Fredegar," he greeted the others, nodding politely. Merry moved over to make room for Sam to join them.
"What brings you into our company this time of day, Sam?" Merry asked curiously. "I thought you'd be at Bag End."
"That's where I started out from, it's certain," Sam replied, a little self- consciously. "Mr. Frodo's taken it into his head that I could use a rest, as he put it, and he fairly shoved me out the gate this mornin'. He said I was to take the rest of the day and go enjoy myself." He snorted and fidgeted with a fork on the table. "I can't think what I'll find to do, as I'd not planned any such thing," he finished fretfully.
"That sounds like a fine idea to me, Sam," said Fredegar. Fredegar 'Fatty' Bolger had been a friend to Sam and Frodo for a long time, and consequently a friend to Merry and Pippin as well. The five of them could be found enjoying ale and song at the Dragon in the evenings from time to time. Pippin and Merry could be counted on to dig their cousin Frodo out of his hobbit hole for an evening every now and then, and were themselves frequent patrons.
"I'm in agreement," Pippin chimed in. "If we think about it, we should be able to help you find something fun to do with your time today," he enthused.
"Mr. Frodo suggested a bit of fishing." Sam had always enjoyed going fishing, even if he didn't catch anything worth keeping. It was always a nice, quiet way to spend some time, sitting in the shade and listening to the sound of the brook bubbling softly and the breeze stirring in the leaves overhead.
"Oh, that sounds like a fine idea!" Pippin chirped, with enough enthusiasm for both Sam and himself. "Do you mind if I join you?"
Well, there went the part about fishing being quiet, Sam thought. But as energetic as Pippin could be, Sam had to admit he was good company, after all.
Merry hailed a barmaid, and ordered a round of ales for the group. They ordered something to eat and went back to their conversation as the mugs were passed around. "Frodo has a point, Sam," said Merry. "You do spend a lot of time working for him. Maybe he just felt it was time you slowed down a little."
"I know he's meanin' well by it," Sam replied, sipping his ale, "but I don't mind the work and it's just where I belong, in the garden and all." Mmmm, the ale tasted good. The walk had made him thirsty, and he drank more deeply from the tankard.
"Well, I think it's a splendid idea," Pippin joined in. "It won't kill you to have a little fun with us, you know." Pippin raised his mug as if toasting the idea in general, and took a healthy swig of ale.
"Merry and I will probably skip the fishing this time around if that sits all right with you, Sam." Freddy sipped from his mug and Merry nodded in assent. "We'd planned to do a little visiting about town today and a few other errands. But maybe you could coax us back here this evening?"
"If Mr. Frodo can be persuaded, we may join you later on," Sam replied. Whoops! His mug was empty. He must have really been thirsty. He caught the barmaid's attention and ordered another ale.
A few minutes later, the meal arrived, delivered to their table by none other than Rosie Cotton. A look of mild surprise flitted across her face when she saw that Sam had joined the group. "Good day, Mr. Gamgee," she greeted him with a smile. "It's an unusual hour to see you here, but a pleasant surprise, certainly."
Sam blushed, trying to tell himself it was due to the ale, but he knew it wasn't. He was pretty sure his companions knew it too, by the smirks on their faces. "Good day, Miss Rose," he replied with a shy glance. He had been hoping to spend a few moments chatting with her without the added pressure of companions nearby, but it wasn't to be.
"Frodo gave Sam the day off, to do as he pleases," Merry said, giving Sam a rather wicked wink. "And it's always a pleasure to see you, Rosie." Merry's eyes sparkled impishly as he raised his tankard. "Sam's own words, mind you."
"Meriadoc Brandybuck, you're the greatest rascal that ever walked," Rosie said, laughing pleasantly. Turning back to Sam, who was red to the tips of his ears, she said, "It's a pleasure to see you too, Mr. Samwise. I hope you have a fine day." With that, she left them to their meal. Sam took a drink of his ale, averting his eyes as he recovered his dignity.
"Sorry, Sam. I can't help myself, you know." Merry chuckled, digging into his food. Sam was much too shy, in Merry's opinion. He couldn't resist needling him just a bit when he blushed like a tween in Rosie's presence.
"I know that all too well, Mr. Merry," Sam replied. Merry teased them all quite mercilessly when the opportunity presented itself. It was just part of his nature, and they were all fair game. It was just Sam's turn this time, and no harm done.
Sam let the company of friends and the good, cold ale soothe his mood somewhat. He could find a way to kill some time today and he would thank Mr. Frodo for his consideration and tell him what a nice time he had. It was just one day after all, and tomorrow things would be back to normal again.
One more round of ale later, the group broke up and went their separate ways. Fredegar and Merry waved at Sam and Pippin as they headed into town. Pippin grabbed Sam's arm and began to hurry him down the path, towards Bagshot Row. The Gamgees lived a few doors down from Frodo, and it was the closest place to find what they needed for an afternoon of fishing.
"Hurry up and relax, Samwise," Pippin joked happily as they walked. "We'll get a couple of poles and some bait and have a wonderful time."
~*~
This should do nicely, Frodo thought as he selected a worn but sturdy cotton shirt and a pair of old breeches that were fraying slightly at the hems. A little dirt from the garden would do no harm to these, and they were comfortable enough. Having changed his wardrobe, he stepped out into the sunshine and set about beginning the chores. Now where was that bucket?
He spied it near the rose bush where Sam had placed it, and he scooped it up. He walked around toward the back corner of the garden, where he knew Sam had been planning to do some weeding. Those weeds didn't stand a chance with Sam on the job. Well, there would be no reprieve for them today, regardless of the gardener's absence. Frodo knelt down and began pulling up the offending greens one by one with his bare hands. He realized he had no gloves to wear, but he wasn't going to let that deter him. He could handle a little dirt under his nails.
As he reached beneath a flowering shrub to get at a partially concealed weed, he felt a sudden stab of pain in his finger and pulled his hand back with a yelp. A bee flew out of the shrub and past his ear, buzzing madly away from him. He'd surprised it and the insect had stung him on his right forefinger. It was already beginning to redden and swell, and it felt like a hot needle was embedded in it, burning painfully.
"Ouch!" Frodo grabbed his hand and squeezed it as he pulled away from the shrub. Alternately sucking on the finger and waving it in the air, he stood up and walked toward Bag End to get some ice and a bandage. This was a fine way to begin his workday. He still had the rest of those weeds to pull, some pruning to do, and then there were the blackberries. He would have to do the remaining chores with a sore finger, it seemed.
He went downstairs to the cool air of the cellar where he had a small icebox. Sam had filled it for him just the night before, and Frodo chipped a small piece from one of the larger chunks. Holding it against the offended finger, he went to the kitchen and began rummaging around for the salve and bandages he kept in the kitchen.
~*~
Sam and Pippin made their way to number 3 Bagshot Row, passing by Bag End as they did so. Mr. Frodo must be busy in his study, Sam mused. There wasn't a soul outside as they passed by.
When they arrived at the Gamgees', Sam ducked in the door quickly and returned in a few moments with two fishing poles and a bait bucket. He was glad his Gaffer was out running errands and wasn't there to question his presence at home so early in the day. He really didn't feel like explaining Mr. Frodo's odd idea, and he knew the Gaffer wouldn't approve of it in any case.
Having secured their fishing gear, Sam and Pippin set out for a stream a short distance into the woods near Hobbiton. It was a good, quiet spot, and Sam counted it among his favorite places to fish. There were a number of tall, sturdy trees about that gave a comfortable shade from the heat of day, and a thicket of low bushes alongside the brook.
Near a break in the bushes, Sam and Pippin stopped and readied their poles. Pippin made a rather clumsy cast toward the brook, entangling his line in the bushes near the bank. "Oops. Sorry, Sam. I don't suppose I'll catch any fish in the bushes, will I?" He said, smiling apologetically.
"Don't let it worry you, Mr. Pippin. I'll untangle the line for you." Sam started down the slight slope toward the bushes, noticing the mud beneath his feet as he went. Here under the trees, the sun had not dried the ground completely yet and it was still a bit muddy from the recent rains.
Sam reached into the bushes and grasped Pippin's line, giving it a sharp tug. The line stubbornly refused to come free, however, and Sam adjusted his position a little closer to the thick growth for another try at it. Stepping still closer to the bushes, he suddenly felt himself slipping in the mud and losing his balance. The ale probably wasn't helping either.
With a cry of surprise and dismay, Sam toppled forward directly into the leafy bushes. Dismay turned to something akin to horror, as an unmistakable stench suddenly rose around him, sending his nose into olfactory convulsions. "Aaauuuugggghhhhh!" Sam cried out, flailing madly as he tried to get out of the bushes. A small, furry black creature with a distinctive white stripe down its back bolted out before him, and ran into the forest in panic.
Pippin heard the commotion and Sam's shout, and began descending the gentle slope toward the brook to see what had happened. His nose detected the skunk before his eyes got a chance. His eyes widened and began to water a little as he approached and saw Sam still struggling to free himself from the undergrowth and regain his feet. "Oh, Sam! What have you found there? I'd say you've surprised something rather nasty," Pippin said, his Tuckborough brogue lilting through the air.
"I'd say so!" Sam replied indignantly. "Now help me out of this underbrush. I've got to get cleaned up before this stink becomes a permanent part of me," he said with deep dismay. What a fine thing this was! Of all the bushes in the forest, he had to pick the one with a skunk in it to tumble into. Those creatures smelled bad enough from a distance, but at close range they were positively devastating, and Sam had been directly in the line of fire.
"How in the Shire am I going to get this reek off me?" he lamented to Pippin. "Just water alone won't do it, I'll warrant."
Pippin tried to be polite as he assessed Sam's plight, but he couldn't help holding his nose and standing a few paces away as he did his best to answer Sam's question. "Once when I was just a wee lad, one of the dogs had a similar encounter. My auntie washed him down with tomato juice," Pippin said thoughtfully, coughing and wiping his eyes.
Sam's eyes widened and he stared at Pippin. "Tomato juice? You expect me use that? And where am I going to get enough of it to do the job?" Sam coughed, trying not to gag. Pippin could get away from the smell just by walking away, but Sam couldn't very well walk away from himself. He supposed he would have to ask Mr. Frodo's help with the tomato juice. There was some in the pantry at the Gamgees' but not enough, as Sam had said, to do the job. He would have to borrow some from Frodo, and face the embarrassment of having his master see - and smell - him like this.
"I guess we won't be catching any fish today," Pippin said, looking a little downcast. "We'd better start for Hobbiton and find that tomato juice." He looked at Sam's pained expression and gave him his most encouraging smile. "It worked on the dog," he said. Sam gave him a sour look and they started working their way back up the path and out of the forest.
~*~
Frodo had bandaged his finger and finished pulling the weeds. He had moved on to the blackberry bushes, which were thick with juicy, ripe berries. They were also rather thick with long, sharp thorns as well. For a moment, Frodo wished he had some gloves for this job. On the heels of that thought came the realization that he would need some pretty thick gloves to avoid being poked by thorns like that. How did Sam keep from being shredded by them?
He started with the berries that were closest to the outside of the bushes, and got quite a few without incident. After a while he had exhausted the supply of those that were easy to reach and had no choice but to start reaching further into the bushes. Within a few minutes, the backs of his hands and his forearms were covered in stinging scratches.
When he'd finally finished with the berries, he paused to soothe his hands in a little cold water from the pump. Sam was surely going to be upset with him for allowing himself to be scratched up so badly, but it wasn't as if any permanent damage had been done. Frodo turned the pump off and sat down on the grass, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. More than ever, he was sure he had done the right thing by insisting that Sam have a rest from his labors. This was hard work indeed!
He leaned back against the grass, feeling suddenly weary. It had taken longer than he had planned to pull the weeds and pick the berries. Perhaps he would rest for just a short while before attempting any further chores. The sun shone warmly on his face, and he closed his eyes, letting it wash over him pleasantly. The fresh scent of the grass and the warm rays against his skin had other plans, and a sound sleep overcame him, there in the garden.
~*~
A couple hours after their unfortunate meeting with a representative of the local wildlife, Sam and Pippin made their way up the hill toward Bag End. It had taken a while to get there, since they had used less traveled paths in hopes of avoiding contact with any other hobbits. Sam thought the smell had faded a little, or perhaps he was getting accustomed to it to some degree. He was anxious to get cleaned up, and that meant getting through the inevitable moment of seeing the look on Mr. Frodo's face when he arrived at Bag End.
Pippin was still with him, but stood back at a distance as Sam knocked softly on Frodo's door. There was no answer. Perplexed, Sam knocked again, harder this time. Still there came no sound from within, but the door swung open slightly. His own embarrassment over his aromatic state was forgotten briefly as he peered inside with concern in his features. Where was Mr. Frodo? Was something wrong?
"Mr. Pippin, would you check on Mr. Frodo for me?" Sam asked his companion. He was not about to enter Bag End with the smell of the skunk clinging to him. No point in Mr. Frodo's having to suffer on his gardener's account! "I'm goin' out back to see if he's takin' some air in the garden."
Pippin stepped through the round door and closed it behind him. "Frodo, hello, cousin!" He called, as he approached the study. The study was empty. When he passed the kitchen window, something caught his eye. He stopped in his tracks and looked back out the window, scanning the garden carefully. Was that Frodo in the garden, asleep in the sun? What could he be doing out there?
Sam was, at that same moment, heading for the back portion of the garden. He was hoping that he would find a good-sized washbasin in the shed. He could hardly take a proper bath in something that small, but he wasn't going to be welcomed into any occupied residence smelling as he was.
As he walked, he looked around him for any sign that Frodo was somewhere nearby. Maybe he could clean himself up without having to be seen by his master in the process. Of course, he'd still have some explaining to do about the tomato juice, but that could wait.
Musing to himself, Sam nearly tripped over something in his path. Not something, someone! "Mr. Frodo!" Sam knelt down beside his master, who was lying on his back in the grass, stirring groggily. What was Frodo doing out there? He didn't look ill, but there was a bandage on one finger and the backs of his hands were covered in scratches and scrapes. And that sunburn! That was going to hurt.
"S-Sam?" Frodo opened his eyes slowly. Oh, my! That little nap must have turned into something a bit longer if his gardener had already returned. He sniffed the air, and regarded his gardener curiously. "Sam, what is that smell? And why are you back so soon?"
Sam stared at Frodo in open astonishment. "Mr. Frodo! Never you mind about me, now! I'll tell you the entire tale, but what are you doing out here in the garden? You're - well -" Sam stuttered. "Meaning no disrespect, Sir, but you're a right mess!"
And so he was. Dirt from the garden clung to Frodo's clothes and hands. Bits of leaves and grass were stuck in his hair from napping on the ground, and his face was streaked with grime and sweat. His normally pale skin was reddened by a painful sunburn. If he could have seen himself as he appeared to Sam's eyes, he would have reflected that he looked nothing like the scholarly Master of Bag End that his gardener knew so well.
Frodo gazed blearily at his gardener. Sam was looking a little worse for wear as well, if the truth be told. Like Frodo, he had leaves stuck in his hair, and his feet were quite muddy. The breeze changed directions and Frodo smelled something simply dreadful. His blue eyes widened when he realized it was Sam!
"Sam? Elbereth! Just what have you gotten into? You're less tidy than usual yourself, and - " he stopped mid-sentence, not sure how to proceed. "You're, um, shall we say, aromatic?"
Pippin emerged into the garden and looked at Frodo, mute with surprise. What a strange day! Was it his imagination, or was everyone behaving oddly and suffering the consequences? As he pondered the day's events, his Tookish nature shone forth and he found a vast amount of humor in all of it. "Oh, Merry will be sorry he missed all this. I shall have fun describing it to him, though," he said, grinning from ear to ear.
"Just you mind your tongue, Mr. Pippin!" Sam was in no mood to contemplate the thought of Pippin at the Green Dragon, well into his third mug of ale, recounting - and doubtless expanding - the details of all that had occurred.
Frodo got to his feet and brushed himself off as best he could. He supposed he owed Sam an explanation. "Sam, I'm fine. I just wanted to do something for you, since you're such a great help to me. You deserved a little time to yourself, and I couldn't see the harm in taking care of things in your absence. It was just a few weeds and a few blackberry bushes."
"But your hands!" Sam said, aghast at what he saw. Frodo's pale, graceful hands bore nasty red scratches from the blackberry thorns, and the finger that had been stung by the bee was still a little swollen. "Mr. Frodo, your hands weren't meant for such things! They were made for holding books and writing about elves and dragons and such," he said, sounding rather stricken.
"Oh, Sam! Please don't be upset," Frodo replied. He would have to turn the conversation away from the somewhat sorry state he'd gotten himself into or Sam would start blaming himself for it, saying it was his fault for not keeping to his duty.
"What about you?" Frodo inquired. "Obviously something less than pleasant has befallen you today. Out with it, Samwise!"
Sam looked at his toes. Now this was going to be every bit as embarrassing as he'd thought. "Mr. Pippin and I were going to do a bit of fishing as you mentioned," he began, but a giggle from Pippin broke his train of thought.
"Sam made the acquaintance of a rather peevish skunk in the forest, Cousin Frodo." Pippin enjoyed the look on Frodo's face immensely. "It must have decided to teach him a thing or two about dropping in on someone unannounced!"
Frodo tried as hard as he could to keep a straight face, but it was no use. A smile slowly began to creep across his sunburned face, spreading into a grin, and he shook with suppressed laughter. His mirth was not to be contained, however, and he found himself laughing so hard he could barely breathe.
Sam made a slightly choked noise and began to laugh as well for he realized what a ridiculous pair they were at that moment, grubby and disheveled, and in Sam's case, smelling to the stars above! "Mr. Frodo," Sam gasped as he caught his breath, "Please promise me you'll believe me when I say my workin' suits me fine enough. It's just the natural order of things, if you take my meaning, Sir." He looked at his master pointedly, and Frodo could plainly see a great deal of the old Gaffer in his gardener when he spoke again. "We ought not to go makin' repairs to things that are working right to begin with, and no mistake!"
"I cannot argue that point, Sam, nor would I presume to try right now," Frodo replied. He steered Sam in the direction of Bag End. "Now, to more pressing matters. How are we to deal with your predicament?"
"Tomato juice," Sam and Pippin said in unison, bringing another burst of laughter from Frodo. The thought of Sam with tomato juice dripping from his hair was quite a mental image.
"Mr. Frodo, if it's all the same to you, I can clean up in the shed with a washtub. Mr. Bilbo would have my ears for ruining Bag End, if you follow me." Sam stopped outside the door, not wanting to follow Pippin and Frodo inside.
"Nonsense, Sam. We'll get you cleaned up right away, and there will be no harm done. Although I have to say, the clothes you're wearing are probably done for," Frodo observed. "Pippin, could I persuade you to dash to the Gamgees to get Sam something clean to wear?"
"Certainly, Cousin." Pippin turned and walked out the door toward the Gamgees', whistling happily as he went. It was easy for Pippin to whistle, Sam thought. He wasn't the one about to have a tomato bath!
As he put the kettle on to heat water for a bath, Frodo made a promise to himself to never pressure his gardener to take a day off again. But if Sam should ever ask for one himself, it would be granted without hesitation. Sam, in turn, promised himself he would never let Frodo talk him into doing anything that silly again. He knew where he belonged, and he was going to stay there. Pippin thought about tomato juice. And that made him think about tomatoes. And mushrooms, and apples -
~end~