Mistress-Samwise: Bwah-hah-hah! *sing-song* Less than a month 'til my birthday! Huzzah! *grins* (it's on December twelfth, and I'm gonna be seeing TTT on the Friday after it comes out in celebration) Anywho, I'm being overrun with plot bunnies for this story and I just don't know how to plant them into the storyline! Oy. I've got, what, *counts on fingers* four or some big, big ideas that I know you'll love. But I've got a whole crud-load of things to do (like a biology project tonight), so I'll see what I can do.
Oh, yeah… I've also been watching Neon Genesis Evangelion with my friend Ed. You're asking "So?". *slowly* It's Eva. Eh-vah. 'Nuff said. Anywho, here's the story.
---
Frodo returned home quickly, hoping Bilbo hadn't noticed his absence. He opened the front door, and jumped in surprise to see Bilbo standing behind it.
"Gah!"
"Where were you?" the elder hobbit asked quizzically, his arms folded across his chest. Frodo smiled nervously.
"I was just getting some fresh air."
Bilbo stared suspiciously at Frodo for a moment and then sighed.
"At least you finished the dishes."
He turned and walked away, disappearing off again like he always did. Frodo quietly made himself some tea before he crept off to his room. After stoking the fire, he brought his chair in front of the glowing hearth and silently drank his tea. Eventually, he could drink no more, and idly swirled the tea, his slender fingers wrapped around the cool pottery. The fireplace crackled, sending sparks floating up the flue. Frodo began to nod off as the warm glow caressed his face and he soon fell asleep.
Sam…
Morning came again. Frodo awoke to a terrible crick in his neck.
"Oh, great…"
While he was off tending his sore neck, a knock came to the door.
"Frodo?" Bilbo called from behind the door. "Are you awake?"
"Yes, Bilbo— Owwww…" Frodo winced as he turned his head in a very wrong direction. "Just give me—Ah…! A moment…"
Slowly he rose up from the chair, being sure not to move his head more than he needed to. He picked out on of his favorite cotton shirts and carefully buttoned it up. After slipping on a new pair of trousers, he left his room for the kitchen. Bilbo had just finished making breakfast, and was setting it out onto the table.
"Hullo, Bilbo," Frodo said, massaging his neck.
"Good morning," Bilbo replied. "What's the matter?"
"Ugg… My neck…" Frodo sharply drew in his breath as he twisted his neck. "Ow! I fell asleep in the chair last night."
Bilbo smiled.
"Ah, yes. I barely ever use my bed at all. Maybe what you need is a new chair. A nice, big comfy one."
Frodo grinned beamingly.
"Really, Uncle Bilbo?"
"Not if you don't do your chores."
Frodo winced.
"Oh… I forgot about that."
"Remember our little agreement? No work, no pay."
"Yes…"
"It was your idea in the first place, you know."
"I know, I know."
After breakfast, Frodo was assigned the task of chopping firewood.
"Now, most of it has already been chopped," Bilbo stated, handing Frodo a small hatchet. "All you need to do is cut them into smaller pieces."
"They look small enough to me," Frodo pointed out.
"No," Bilbo said. "Now get chopping."
Frodo grumbled under his breath as Bilbo left to go inside.
"Lousy bugger…"
Frodo took a swing at the piece of wood and managed to cut its corner off.
"Oh, huzzah," he spat sarcastically. "How charming."
Carefully, he took aim and swung at it again, this time splitting it in two.
"Now, that's better!"
Gradually, the pile of firewood grew and grew, and he was soon finished. Wiping his brow, he sat down on the chopping block to rest. For a while, all he did was sit and think, something he was really good at.
Ah… If only I was being paid for this…
Frodo's lazy reverie was broken as a huffy Sam stormed past, disappearing into the gardens.
"Hey, Sam!" Frodo called, standing up again. "Wait up!"
There came no response. Frodo decided to fish out the young hobbitlad himself.
"Oh, come on," Frodo pleaded, trailing behind Sam. "What's the matter?"
"I'm not allowed to talk with you," Sam replied sharply, not even looking at Frodo.
"Look, if it's about yesterday, the whole thing's my fault."
Sam said nothing, but rather let out an aggravated humph.
"Sam," Frodo said, sounding quite aggravated himself. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing," Sam spat. "Now, leave me alone."
Frodo paused in his tracks for a moment.
"Eru help me…" he mumbled under his breath. He then walked a little faster, trying to catch up with Sam.
"I'm sorry about yesterday, Sam," Frodo stated. "I hope I didn't get you in any trouble."
Sam came to a dead halt and twirled around to throw a nasty glance at Frodo. Promptly, he turned around again and continued marching off again. Frodo growled annoyingly.
"Oh, for the love of…"
"Don't you have anything more important to do, Mister Frodo?" Sam inquired stingingly. "I have a lot of things to do, an' the sooner I get to 'um, the sooner they'll be done."
Frodo was wordless with surprise at Sam's sudden change in attitude. This was not like him at all.
"Please, Sam… Tell me what's wrong!"
"It ain't none of your business, sir," Sam said, his voice trembling slightly. "Besides, I'm not even suppose' to be speakin' to you."
Frodo had the sudden urge to yell at Sam why he was still doing so, but he restrained himself.
"I see I caught you at a bad time—"
"Yes, now leave me alone!"
With that, Sam ran off, leaving behind a very dumbfounded Frodo.
That was… odd.
Frodo decided that he would attempt conversation with Sam later. Until then, he had to straighten out all his chores. Once he got back to the chopping block, he gathered up all the firewood and carried it back to Bag End. Finding himself unable to open the door, what with his hands completely filled, he crawled up to an open window.
"Bilbo!" he cried through the empty windowpane. "I'm finished chopping wood now. Could you get the door?"
"Why can't you get it yourself?" Bilbo asked, his voice emanating somewhere within the smial.
"My hands are full."
Bilbo grumbled and left to open the front door.
"Did you get all of it done?" Bilbo inquired once Frodo was inside.
"Yes," the hobbitlad replied. "Where should I put all this?"
"Oh, right beside the fireplace."
After placing the wood down, Frodo dusted himself off and straightened out his shirt.
"Hey, Uncle Bilbo," Frodo said, picking a splinter out of his shirt cuff. "Is Sam always grumpy in the morning?"
"Hmm?" Bilbo thought for a moment. "No… I wondered when you would meet young Samwise."
"I have already taken the liberty," Frodo stated.
"Charming young lad, isn't he?"
"Right…"
"He reminds me of you, when you were small. How you always used to be so delighted to hear one of my adventure stories. He's very fascinated with the elves, you know."
"Really? I don't blame him, but my favorite part of your stories was always the dragon." Frodo then grinned widely. "Anybody can meet an elf, but only my Uncle Bilbo can come face to face with a real live dragon."
"That's right, my lad," Bilbo laughed, slapping Frodo on the back. "And don't you forget that."
"Don't worry. I won't."
"Now, run along there, Frodo-lad, and I'll tell you if I think of any more chores for you to do."
Frodo smiled and nodded and hoped that Bilbo would forget to do that.
It was mid-afternoon, and Frodo has decided to wander about Hobbiton. He passed by the market, wishing that he had some of his money with him. Occasionally, he would stop beside the road and just lean against the fence post, thinking. Sometimes he would be very bored, but one thing that never failed to keep him occupied was sitting down and having a nice, long thought.
I wonder how everybody at Brandy Hall is doing…
Whenever he thought of his family he left behind, he would always feel a slight pang of loneliness. Bilbo was his only family now. Frodo sighed, and continued walking.
Frodo was always alone. Friends were usually always just acquaintances, and there's only so much trouble you can get into with your younger cousin until you both tire of each other's company. Be that as it may, Frodo was never truly lonely, but there were moments when he felt like there was nobody left to care about him. His anger had driven everyone away, and he hoped that moving to Hobbiton would give him a fresh start. Nobody there would already know about his temper, so they would be more willing to get to know him. He didn't want to hurt anybody this time. And that included Sam. Sam seemed so young, so pure, and Frodo was not about to hurt him with his anger.
Frodo resolved to reconcile with the lad once he got to Bag End. He couldn't stand to lose his only friend in Hobbiton just because of a silly argument.
Once he arrived back at home, Frodo sought out Sam. It wasn't long until he found the hobbitlad burrowing out a small trench around a flowerbed. Frodo silently crept up behind him.
"What's that you're doing?"
"Diggin'," Sam replied. Frodo breathed a sigh of relief; Sam seemed to have calmed down.
"What for?" Frodo inquired.
"Da says it's going to rain soon, and this helps keep the flowers from drownin'."
Frodo stood there a while, his hands clasped behind his back, watching Sam dig out the shallow trench. Suddenly, Sam stopped and scratched his head thoughtfully.
"Hmmm…"
He sat and pondered for a minute, and then turned to Frodo.
"I just remembered that I'm not supposed to talk to you anymore," Sam stated plainly.
Frodo furrowed his brow quizzically.
"Why is that?"
"Me Gaffer told me not to," Sam said matter-of-factly.
Frodo said nothing.
"It's not proper for me to talk to you. He said that we're not equals."
"Oh, Sam!" Frodo cried. "That's not true!"
"No." Sam shook his head. "I'm not entitled to such things."
Frodo felt his heart break.
Poor Sam… If only he knew what he was saying… These are clearly his father's words…
There were so many things Frodo wanted to explain to Sam, but he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. What if the Gaffer was right and Frodo wasn't? What if Sam and Frodo couldn't be friends?
"Why did your father tell you that?" Frodo asked, his voice toned with worry.
"Well, Mister Frodo…" Sam began counting out on his fingers. "That's what his dad told 'im, an' he got it from his dad, an' his dad before that—"
"I get your point," Frodo stated politely. Frodo paused for a moment. "You don't… really believe all that… Do you?"
Sam lowered his eyes, staring nervously at the ground as he dusted the dirt off his hands.
"Mister Frodo… I… I don't know…"
"Look, Sam… I can't tell you what to believe…" Frodo leaned over and looked into Sam's eyes. "And you don't even need your father telling you what to believe. All I'm asking is that you listen to your heart."
Sam felt Frodo's gaze fall deep, striking a chord far within him. There was much sincerity and emotion in those shining blue eyes, though Sam could still not bring himself to look upon them. Behind all the feeling was something deeper, something more profound, something far bigger than he could even begin to comprehend, and his eyes strayed from Frodo's in humility… and a sense of fear. The elder hobbitlad understood, simply and wholly, and without explanation. He turned around and left Sam to finish his job. For a long time, Sam worked wordlessly, and he worked until it lost all meaning. He tossed the trowel aside and bunched his shirt cuff in his fist.
"It ain't fair…" he murmured, drawing his cuff across his tear-filled eyes. "It ain't fair…"
Sam was sure to scrub away all the tears on his face, for he certainly didn't want his father to see that he had been crying.
---
Mistress-Samwise: Awww… Poor Sam. It gets better. Now, if you excuse me, I have to go off and convince my mom that I've been working on my biology project. Tah.
