a/n:  Ai, what a ridiculous gap between postings!!  *sighs*  I'm sorry, I'm sorry!!!  I know I promised I wouldn't do this to you guys!!  :(  But hopefully the length of this chapter'll make up for that a little…maybe…

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As the weeks passed, things between Frodo and Sam went from bad to worse. 

Sam began staying at home, tending to his own family's garden completely, leaving Hamfast free to spend his time at Bag End.  Frodo hardly ever saw the lad; when he did it was only in passing, and Sam would scarcely look at him.  Frodo grew withdrawn, hurt by Sam's complete rejection of him, and began to stay in Bag End day in and day out, devoting himself entirely to his studies.  Bilbo had to admit he was a fast learner; he'd already mastered the common tongue, having had some previous schooling in Brandy Hall, and was quickly learning to decipher Elvish.  He was quite natural at it, Bilbo marveled. 

But despite this, he could see Frodo was not happy.  He was too quiet, too solemn, smiling only occasionally and laughing even less.  He avoided going outside, wishing to avoid prying eyes or a chance encounter with Sam (which had become simply too painful to endure, though Bilbo wasn't aware of this). 

Bilbo sighed, leaning back as he studied Frodo, who was poring over a translation Bilbo was working on. It wasn't healthy, he decided, taking in Frodo's thinness and pallor.  He should be outside, building up some muscle on that too-thin frame, exposing that pale skin to a little sun once in a while.  He frowned as Frodo muttered something and glanced back over the pages he'd just read.

"Uncle," he said, "I believe this translation may be incorrect; it doesn't fit with the one you had previously."

"Look at the context, Frodo-lad," Bilbo said quietly after glancing at the text. 

Frodo glanced back at the previous stanza, and after a moment his expression cleared.  "I see," he said, then was silent. 

Bilbo frowned again, then reached a decision.

"Lad," he said, "I want you to go for a walk.  Take a picnic; take a book if you must.  But you really need to get out of Bag End for a while."

Frodo jerked his head up quickly, an expression near to panic in his eyes, and for a moment Bilbo almost withdrew his command; however, the moment passed and Bilbo's resolve strengthened.  No lad should be that afraid of going outside for a bit.

"No arguments, lad," he said.  "This isn't healthy.  You sit up here all day, brooding, with a face sour enough to curdle milk.  Now"—he held up his hand to forestall any protests—"I know your first attempt at Hobbiton didn't go so well, but lad, you really ought to give it another go.  Won't do you no good to stay locked up here with me all your life, now will it?"

Frodo closed his mouth, which had opened on several possible protests, realizing none would do him any good.  He sighed and lowered his head.  He'd know all along, really, that he wouldn't be able to avoid this forever; Bilbo was lenient enough, but he'd been sulking—yes, sulking, Frodo admitted to himself—around Bag End for nearly three weeks now.  Even Bilbo's patience had an end.

"Yes, Uncle," he said quietly, still staring at the table top.

Bilbo chuckled.  "Now, then, lad," he admonished lightly, "It's not as though I asked you climb the Misty Mountains or anything.  Just take a stroll, that's all!  Go explore some of the land about here.  You've not seen Sam in a while, why not invite him?"

Frodo's head snapped up, and this time the panic was definite.  "Oh, Bilbo, I…I don't think that's a good idea," he said, his voice trembling despite himself. 

Bilbo frowned.  "And whyever not?" he said.  "You two seemed to get on well enough the first day you met."

Frodo looked down, one hand picking absently at the corner of his parchment.  "It's just…he…well, I don't think he likes me much."

Bilbo huffed.  "Sam?" he waved his hand.  "Nonsense.  Sam likes everyone.  Just go on down there and"—

"No!"

Bilbo jumped and stared at his cousin.  Frodo was wide-eyed, tears shining clearly over the blue of his irises.  He swallowed, looking slightly apologetic at his outburst, then said, "Bilbo…please.  I can't.  He really…he really doesn't like me much, I know that, and I just…" he swallowed again and looked away.  "I really don't want to put him in any awkward positions, is all."

Bilbo was perplexed, but the silent plea in Frodo's eyes was enough to make him keep his own silence. 

"Very well, then, lad," he sighed, tapping his pipe against the silver ash-tray sitting on his desk.  "Go alone.  But I do want you to go, is that clear?  Today.  Take a luncheon." 

Frodo nodded.  "Yes, sir," he said, then stood and walked out of the study.

Bilbo sighed and shook his head. 

"Drogo," he muttered, "that lad of yours is as stubborn as you ever were, and make no mistake."

~          ~          ~

Sam sat back in the garden with a sigh, his gaze traveling up the path towards Bag End as it had a tendency to do these days. 

Three weeks.  He couldn't believe it had only been three weeks.  It felt like an eternity.  He missed Bag End, he missed spending so much time with his Gaffer, and he missed Frodo.  *Mr.* Frodo, he corrected himself, but instead of making him feel bitter, the thought only made him feel sad.  Oh, how he *wished*--

His thoughts were interrupted when his mother appeared in the doorway, waving him inside for lunch.  He stood and brushed the dirt from his trousers, then walked towards the door.  He paused, however, when he noticed something from the corner of his eye.  Turning, he felt his heart lurch when he realized it was Frodo; the hobbit was making his way down the hill towards the woods, a basket in one hand, a book in the other.  His head was bowed, and even from this distance Sam could tell he'd grown unnaturally thin—even more so than before.  His skin held a sickly white hue that went beyond pale and now bordered on transparent.  Sam felt his heart clench at the way Frodo's shoulders slumped, his head dropped down to his chest, his steps dragging.  He forced himself to look away, brushing hastily at his tears.  Oh, all he wanted was to run over to the older hobbit and throw his arms around him, tell him everything would be okay…but he couldn't.  He couldn't.  Frodo had made it quite clear that while he and Sam could be casual acquaintances, they simply couldn't be friends.

He glanced back towards the hill, but Frodo was already gone.  Lowering his head with a sigh, Sam turned and walked into the smial.

~          ~          ~

The glade was perfect: hidden from sight, far from the road (or anything else, for that matter), shady and cool.  The Brandywine bubbled along happily next to a large, flat, moss-covered stone, which lay dappled in sunlight.  Frodo set his basket down with a sigh.  This would do, he decided, smiling a little for the first time in days.  Yes, it would do quite nicely. 

He sat down and pulled out a slice of bread as he opened his book.  Placing a bit of cheese on the bread and taking a bite, he began to read.  He was soon absorbed, the cool breeze lifting his dark curls gently, the shadows lengthening as the noontime sun lowered into late afternoon.  Frodo read on, snacking from the picnic basket and entirely caught up in the story of Elves and love and war.  Eventually, feeling pleasantly full and comfortably warm, he found himself drowsing; deciding to nap for a few minutes before heading back home he stretched out on the rock and was soon fast asleep.

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Bilbo glanced out the window for what must have been the thirtieth time, the gnawing unease in his gut turning to downright worry as he watched the storm clouds building in the east.  The wind had picked up, and there was a definite chill to it.  His creaking joints warned of a storm, and a good one at that, seemingly.  He frowned again.  Where was Frodo?

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"Samwise?"

Sam glanced up from the dishes he'd been washing along with his sister Daisy.  "Yes, mum?"

His mother was standing before him, her hands on her hips as she gazed out the door with a frown on her face.  After a moment she turned to him.  "Run along up to Bag End and see if you can't help your father finish up, won't you?  I want him home before this storm hits.  It's going to be a nice one, to be sure."

Sam felt the color drain from his face.  "But Mum…" he whispered, his hands trembling as he clutched the plate he'd been washing to his chest.

She turned to him, her face stern.  "No buts, lad," she said.  "It's high time you faced up to that Mr. Frodo, anyhow.  No sense in hiding from him forever.  It won't kill you.  Besides, your father won't come home until his work's done and you're the only one who can help him finish with that.  Now run along!"

Sam saw it would be no use arguing.  He set the plate down with a small sigh, grabbed the cloak his mother was holding out for him, and stepped into the chilled evening breeze.

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Hamfast glanced up as his master walked out into the garden.

"Hullo Mr. Bilbo," he said, nodding politely.  Bilbo glanced at him, and gave the barest flicker of a smile, but his eyes were distant as he peered at the line of trees at the edge of the fields behind Bagshot Row.  Hamfast watched him a moment, waiting; Bilbo seemed to be searching for something.

"Master Bilbo?"

Bilbo started, then looked down.  "Hamfast…you haven't seen Frodo this afternoon, have you?"

Hamfast frowned.  "Nay, lad, not since he left a'fore noon," he replied.  His frown deepened.  "He's not come back?"

Bilbo shook his head, his gaze returning to the line of the trees.  "No," he whispered, his voice shaking with worry as he glanced at the darkening sky.  "He hasn't…"

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Sam entered Bag End's gardens reluctantly, pulling the gate shut as quietly as he could.  With any luck, he'd be in and out before Frodo noticed he was here…

He paused, however, when he heard the sounds of voices.  Ducking quickly behind a hedge, he realized it was his father, and Mr. Bilbo.  Frowning at the tone of their voices, he crept closer, straining to hear.

"He's been gone all day, then?" his father was saying.  "Do you know which way he went?"

Bilbo's reply sounded strained.  "I don't know for certain.  He said he was going to go into the woods, but"—there was a pause; peering through the leaves Sam saw Bilbo make a sweeping gesture with his arm—"that was hours ago, he could be *anywhere*!"

Sam's frown deepened.  What was going on?  Something serious, from the sounds of it…

"And Frodo's hardly left Bag End since he's been here," Bilbo continued, his voice sounding on the verge of breaking in his panic.  "'Twould be so easy for him to get lost…especially…oh, I *told* him to take Sam…!"

Sam swallowed, startled, alarmed and stung at Bilbo's words.  So Frodo had gone for a walk, and hadn't come back…and had obviously refused to take Sam along.  He hung his head.  No surprise there…

"I told him," Bilbo was saying.  "He doesn't know the area, he could be anywhere!  And it's getting dark, and with this storm and all…"

Sam didn't wait around to hear the rest.  All his shyness and the hurt that accompanied the thought of Frodo vanished in light of his concern for the older lad.  He was lost, and a storm was brewing.  Sam clenched his jaw stubbornly.   Whether he wanted it or not, Frodo *needed* Sam's help.  Turning away quickly, he hurried back out of the gate and around towards the forest, the only thought in his mind to find him before it was too late…

~          ~          ~

Hamfast listened to his master's words with increasing alarm. 

"Why didn't he want to take Sam?" he wondered.  "The lad wouldn't a'got lost, that's true enough…"

Bilbo shook his head.  "He has some notion in his head that Sam doesn't like him," he said.  "I told him that was foolish, but he was so upset about it I didn't press the issue."  He suddenly frowned, and looked at Hamfast.  "Do you know anything about it?  They didn't have a fight, did they?  They seemed to be getting on so well."

Hamfast sighed.  "Nay, sir, he just…well, he took it as a bit of a shock, begging your pardon, when he…when Frodo went off with the Boffin lads, is all.  Had some notion of he and Mr. Frodo being best friends…don't worry, I corrected him of that right quickly."

Bilbo looked confused.  "You…corrected him?" he said.  "How?  I mean, why?  About what?"

Hamfast frowned.  "Well, sir, he had no right to be makin' claims about your heir like that," he said.  "He just needed to learn his place, is all.  Don't worry, I made it perfectly clear—"

"His place?" Bilbo interrupted.  "What does his place have to do with anything?  Is there a law that says gardeners can't be friends with gentlehobbits?"  His tone had dropped, and he was looking pointedly at the now-sputtering Hamfast.  "Surely you know," Bilbo continued, "that I consider you a friend?"

"But…but sir…!"

Bilbo sighed and shook his head.  "You're a practical hobbit, Hamfast Gamgee," Bilbo said.  "But sometimes I think you take it to an extreme.  But that doesn't solve the current problem of finding Frodo.  Where do you think he could have gone?"

Hamfast frowned, still a little shaken at Bilbo's words but forcing himself not to think on it. 

"Well, let's see…He's likely still on this side of the Brandywine, at least—he had a book with him, I don't think he could have crossed the river without risking damage to it, and he certainly wouldn't have left it behind."

Bilbo nodded eagerly.  "Yes, yes!" he said.  "That cuts the wood in half, at least!"

"And that area yon is all thorns and brambles," Ham continued, pointing.  "He'd never have gotten through there, not without a good pair o' shears and a lot of time on his hands."

Bilbo clapped.  "Yes!  Okay.  So he must be somewhere over there, in the eastern part of the wood."  He turned and hurried towards the door.  "I'd best be getting my cloak," he said.  "I've got to go find him."

"Wait a moment!" Hamfast cried, leaping to his feet.  Bilbo turned and gazed at him questioningly.

"Yes?"

Hamfast set his jaw.  "You're not going alone, surely?" 

Bilbo tilted his head.  "Well, yes…I don't have time to round up a search party—"

"Then I'm going with you," the gardener declared.  "And I'll run home and gather the lads.  They all know these woods as well as Sam; we'll look together.  We'll find him much quicker that way, to be certain."

Bilbo stared at him.  "Hamfast…you don't have to do this."

Hamfast folded his arms across his chest, his face taking on a stubborn expression that would one day be passed along to his youngest son as he boldly declared to follow his master into Mordor, though neither Bilbo nor Hamfast could know this.  "You just give me one moment, Mr. Bilbo," he said firmly.  "I'll go round up the lads."

Bilbo stared a moment longer, then reached out and clasped Hamfast on the shoulder.  "Ham…thank you," he whispered.

Hamfast smiled slightly, then gave his master a gentle but firm push towards the door.  "Go then, sir," he said.  "No time to waste.  I'll meet you on the south side of the hill.  Hurry!"

With that Bilbo turned and dashed into Bag End as Hamfast raced down the hill towards # 3 Bagshot Row.

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a/n:  Aiii!  What'll happen now??  ;)  Sangwa—no telling!!  *stares sternly at you*  ;)  Sorry to leave it hanging, but the chapter just wanted to end here.  Don't worry, there won't be such a gap between postings this time, promise!!!