Frodo sighed and rubbed his eyes. From the other room he could hear
Sam reciting a poem, Bilbo's voice piping up when he stumbled. Frodo had
been practicing his elvish handwriting for over an hour. He had thought
learning to speak the language was a pain, but was quickly learning that
writing it was twice as bad. Bilbo had him transcribing poems, writing
them in Westron with the Quenya alphabet for now. Halfway through the
eighth poem, he got sidetracked and started writing something else.
Oh! The sun, Lighting the afternoon sky But where am I? Stuck in this prison of words How I ache To feel the cool breeze blow by To go and fly Over summer grasses green.
Frodo was musing over the next line when the door opened. "Tis time for tea Frodo. Go out and wait in the kitchen, I'd like to go over your work so far before I join you," Bilbo said so quickly it was nearly incomprehensible. "What have you got there? That rhyme scheme doesn't seem to fit any of the poems I gave you." Before Frodo could stop him, Bilbo had taken and begun to read his half-written poem. "Well... a bit melodramatic, don't you think?" he questioned with a raised eyebrow and quirky grin. "But a good start nonetheless. Perhaps after tea you can finish it outside?"
"Yes Bilbo," Frodo said quietly. He scooted past him quickly trying to hide his red cheeks.
Bilbo chuckled as he watched his young nephew leave the room. He was a determined one, if nothing else. While it was a valuable trait, it also seemed to cause a lot of needless suffering. He shook his head and went back to the kitchen.
Frodo was already waiting patiently at the table, practicing his non- verbal communication on Sam. Finally he sighed and gave up. "Would you please sit down? I think it will be easier to serve you tea if you aren't hovering in the corner," he said, his voice a perfect blend of invitation and friendly sarcasm. Sam blushed and joined him, sitting down on the opposite side of the table. "So, how go your studies today, Samwise?"
Frodo looked expectantly at Sam, who looked like he was being interrogated. "Er... they're going well, sir," he finally stuttered.
"Indeed," Bilbo added, finally entering the kitchen. "He is learning very quickly. Perhaps after tea both of you can complete your lessons outdoors?" Bilbo had been watching Frodo try to break Sam's protective shell over the last few months he had been learning his letters, and approved of his efforts highly. 'He is only a boy after all. They both are. There is no need for either to be so serious.'
"Yes, Uncle Bible. We could go under the big tree. There are a few benches there, and it's level enough for me to write," Frodo agreed readily. Sam looked quite a bit more nervous, but agreed with a quiet nod.
"Wonderful! Well then. Let's have that tea!"
* * * * *
So Frodo found himself outside, rewriting poetry while listening to, and occasionally correcting, Sam's reading. He smiled happily, as the sun warmed his cheeks. After quite a while, he had finally finished all of his poetry work, and was left to listen to Sam. The other boy seemed highly nervous, now that he had Frodo's complete attention.
"'His sword was long, his lance was keen His shining helm afar was seen The countless stars of heaven's field Were mirrored in his silver shield But long ago he rode away,
And where he – dway- dwaylett...'"(Fellowship, p. 197-8, hardcover*)
"It's pronounced 'dwelleth'," Frodo corrected as gently as he could manage. He waited patiently for Sam to continue, but there was no sound coming from his "student". Sam was looking at the parchment containing the scrawled poem, looking defeated. "What's wrong?" he asked, moving closer to the younger hobbit.
"It just comes so easy to everyone else..." Sam muttered, looking down at his furry feet despondently. He looked again at the scratchily written poem, and laid the paper down on the grass. "Seems like I'm the only dunce that can't learn this."
"What, you mean letters and writing?" Frodo questioned. Sam nodded. "Not as easily as you think. I've been learning since I was your age, and I can assure you I stumbled on just as many words as you, maybe more. You are lucky. You have Bilbo nearby. Makes it less of a chore when you are learning to read off of poetry books, as opposed to family histories." Frodo shuddered involuntarily at the memory, and wondered if he'd really needed to know THAT much about the Brandybucks.
"You don't mean that, Mr. Frodo." Sam looked skeptically at Frodo. Frodo held up his hands and nodded solemnly
"I assure you, I do. And there is no reason you will not do just as well. Besides, there are not that many others in the Shire who know how to read and write. Just learning at all puts you paces beyond everyone else. Let alone the poetry. Aside from you, Bilbo and I, I am almost positive no hobbit appreciates poetry. So how can you say you are the only one who doesn't understand?" Sam shifted slightly, and blushed.
"Well... it's just... I always study with you. A-and you're so much better than I. I just thought that- that it meant I wasn't learning it proper," he stuttered.
Frodo laughed. "Oh Sam, if you go through life comparing yourself to everyone else, and never noticing what you can do, you'll never appreciate anything properly." Sam thought this over, then smiled at Frodo. "So, does this mean you'll actually talk to me, and not blush as much now? It's always been a bit off putting, trying to hold a conversation with a hobbit shaped, red painted wall."
Sam blushed. "I guess I'll do my best, Mr. Frodo. But talk about what?"
"Anything. What interests you, my friend?"
"...c-could you tell me about Elves?"
Oh! The sun, Lighting the afternoon sky But where am I? Stuck in this prison of words How I ache To feel the cool breeze blow by To go and fly Over summer grasses green.
Frodo was musing over the next line when the door opened. "Tis time for tea Frodo. Go out and wait in the kitchen, I'd like to go over your work so far before I join you," Bilbo said so quickly it was nearly incomprehensible. "What have you got there? That rhyme scheme doesn't seem to fit any of the poems I gave you." Before Frodo could stop him, Bilbo had taken and begun to read his half-written poem. "Well... a bit melodramatic, don't you think?" he questioned with a raised eyebrow and quirky grin. "But a good start nonetheless. Perhaps after tea you can finish it outside?"
"Yes Bilbo," Frodo said quietly. He scooted past him quickly trying to hide his red cheeks.
Bilbo chuckled as he watched his young nephew leave the room. He was a determined one, if nothing else. While it was a valuable trait, it also seemed to cause a lot of needless suffering. He shook his head and went back to the kitchen.
Frodo was already waiting patiently at the table, practicing his non- verbal communication on Sam. Finally he sighed and gave up. "Would you please sit down? I think it will be easier to serve you tea if you aren't hovering in the corner," he said, his voice a perfect blend of invitation and friendly sarcasm. Sam blushed and joined him, sitting down on the opposite side of the table. "So, how go your studies today, Samwise?"
Frodo looked expectantly at Sam, who looked like he was being interrogated. "Er... they're going well, sir," he finally stuttered.
"Indeed," Bilbo added, finally entering the kitchen. "He is learning very quickly. Perhaps after tea both of you can complete your lessons outdoors?" Bilbo had been watching Frodo try to break Sam's protective shell over the last few months he had been learning his letters, and approved of his efforts highly. 'He is only a boy after all. They both are. There is no need for either to be so serious.'
"Yes, Uncle Bible. We could go under the big tree. There are a few benches there, and it's level enough for me to write," Frodo agreed readily. Sam looked quite a bit more nervous, but agreed with a quiet nod.
"Wonderful! Well then. Let's have that tea!"
* * * * *
So Frodo found himself outside, rewriting poetry while listening to, and occasionally correcting, Sam's reading. He smiled happily, as the sun warmed his cheeks. After quite a while, he had finally finished all of his poetry work, and was left to listen to Sam. The other boy seemed highly nervous, now that he had Frodo's complete attention.
"'His sword was long, his lance was keen His shining helm afar was seen The countless stars of heaven's field Were mirrored in his silver shield But long ago he rode away,
And where he – dway- dwaylett...'"(Fellowship, p. 197-8, hardcover*)
"It's pronounced 'dwelleth'," Frodo corrected as gently as he could manage. He waited patiently for Sam to continue, but there was no sound coming from his "student". Sam was looking at the parchment containing the scrawled poem, looking defeated. "What's wrong?" he asked, moving closer to the younger hobbit.
"It just comes so easy to everyone else..." Sam muttered, looking down at his furry feet despondently. He looked again at the scratchily written poem, and laid the paper down on the grass. "Seems like I'm the only dunce that can't learn this."
"What, you mean letters and writing?" Frodo questioned. Sam nodded. "Not as easily as you think. I've been learning since I was your age, and I can assure you I stumbled on just as many words as you, maybe more. You are lucky. You have Bilbo nearby. Makes it less of a chore when you are learning to read off of poetry books, as opposed to family histories." Frodo shuddered involuntarily at the memory, and wondered if he'd really needed to know THAT much about the Brandybucks.
"You don't mean that, Mr. Frodo." Sam looked skeptically at Frodo. Frodo held up his hands and nodded solemnly
"I assure you, I do. And there is no reason you will not do just as well. Besides, there are not that many others in the Shire who know how to read and write. Just learning at all puts you paces beyond everyone else. Let alone the poetry. Aside from you, Bilbo and I, I am almost positive no hobbit appreciates poetry. So how can you say you are the only one who doesn't understand?" Sam shifted slightly, and blushed.
"Well... it's just... I always study with you. A-and you're so much better than I. I just thought that- that it meant I wasn't learning it proper," he stuttered.
Frodo laughed. "Oh Sam, if you go through life comparing yourself to everyone else, and never noticing what you can do, you'll never appreciate anything properly." Sam thought this over, then smiled at Frodo. "So, does this mean you'll actually talk to me, and not blush as much now? It's always been a bit off putting, trying to hold a conversation with a hobbit shaped, red painted wall."
Sam blushed. "I guess I'll do my best, Mr. Frodo. But talk about what?"
"Anything. What interests you, my friend?"
"...c-could you tell me about Elves?"
